Harry Potter and the Force From Long Ago
by BlindJedi
Summary: After fourth year, Harry's dreams of guilt change suddenly. Will his new dreams help him survive a vengeful Lord Voldemort once more? A cross-over with Star Wars.
1. Default Chapter

Harry Potter and The Force from Long Ago  
  
by  
  
BlindJedi  
  
Rating: R  
  
Summary: After the disastrous end to his fourth year at Hogwarts, Harry is having disturbing dreams. When we join him here, his dreams are about to change leading him to discover something within himself that he never dreamed could exist. Between nightmares and feelings of guilt, Harry begins to train to his full potential, which, as Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, would be the first to admit, no one knows just what those limits are.  
  
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling owns it all, at least all of the Harry Potter universe. I think you will quickly realize who owns the rest. I am borrowing everything just to play around a little and hopefully write something that people will enjoy reading. Of course, any characters that I do write in as my own I will claim.  
  
Author's Notes:  
  
I am bound and determined to finally write this dratted story that has been floating around in my mind for nearly a year. I am writing it because I think it is wailing, yelling, kicking, and screaming to be written. Any reviews you submit will be greatly appreciated, however, while I may enjoy reading your suggestions, I must tell you that I write to please myself. If you enjoy it, all the better. Also, when I write, you will not see any responses to reviews in the body of the story itself. I strongly dislike opening a story which says it is 60,000 words long only to realize that a good twenty per cent of the story is actually just the author responding to reviews. I will, of course, be more than happy to respond to reviews; however, I will do so in a review of my own.  
  
As far as ships go, I do not nor ever will right H/G or R/HR. Neither of those couples' personalities match as is quite apparent from all characterizations that you read in J. K.'s books. Hermione is smart and level headed; Ron is a hothead who never takes time to stop and think before he acts and is blinded by his own prejudices. Harry is a leader who is always in the center of action; Ginny doesn't possess the intelligence necessary to be of proper support to Harry's quality traits. Besides, she only knows him as "The Boy who Lived" and has the hots for the famous boy, not Harry as a person. That is my firm belief. So, that leaves H/Hr which this story will end up being. However, you will see H/various before it gets to H/Hr.  
  
Okay, I think I've rambled enough. Sorry if I've bored you already. This will probably be the only author's note that you will see from me in the story unless something comes up that I can not avoid saying. With all of that said, enjoy, review, and may the Force be with you.  
  
Oh, and {.. .. ..} denotes dream speech.  
  
___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___  
  
Chapter One  
  
The Dream that Was Different  
  
___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___ ___  
  
He was dreaming.  
  
Even before the familiar sight of the graveyard swam in to view, he knew what it would be. It had been the same, after all, for the past three weeks.  
  
Powerless to stop it, he again watched as Cedric Diggory, his fellow student from Hogwarts, was murdered before his eyes. He watched helplessly as Wormtail, Peter Pettigrew, his parents' former friend and the person who betrayed them to their deaths, brought the evil Lord Voldemort back to life using blood from Harry's arm and one of his, Wormtail's, own hands. He watched with detached interest as Voldemort ordered that his wand be returned to him so that they could duel. But before the actual duel began, something happened that had not happened before.  
  
The scene switched.  
  
Color bled from the graveyard and all of the objects there seemed to ripple and tear. When the world righted itself once again, Harry found himself in a medium sized cavern which, by the sound, appeared to be behind a waterfall. From the cold which seemed to permeate his bones, he guessed that either where they were it was winter or that they were somewhere in the far north or south of the earth.  
  
He was given little time to ponder this as a high, cruel voice drew his attention to the back of the cavern where a fire was lit. Next to the fire, an enormous green snake was coiled seemingly asleep. He was only slightly surprised to see it was the same snake that had been present in the graveyard. Nagini, Voldemort had called it. Only the occasional flicking of its tongue and low hissing indicated that it was wide awake and ready to strike at a microsecond's notice. Next to the fire as well, there was a large chunk of stone seeming to resemble a roughly-hewn throne. And on the throne, splendidly attired in the dark shadows that seemed to cover him constantly like a cloak, sat Tom Marvolo Riddle, the monster more commonly known as Lord Voldemort.  
  
Harry had time to be grateful that the glowing red slits that Voldemort used for eyes were not focused on him before the monster spoke.  
  
{What of your success, Wormtail?}  
  
Harry swiveled his eyes to the ground in front of the throne to see a short, balding man kneeling on the ground, a look of abject terror imprinted on his face. IT was Peter Pettigrew, Wormtail.  
  
{As I t-told you, M-My L-L-Lord, I know where the bo-bo-boy's family lives. However, as you y-yourself said, I could n-n-not get past the wards and his guardians do not allow him to l-leave the yard}  
  
{So, you have no good news for me, Wormtail. I am disappointed, of course, but never expected a weak pathetic creature like you would be able to carry out such a simple task anyway. CRUCIO!}  
  
Harry's face contorted in anticipation of the horrid screams that he was awaiting from Wormtail, but they never came. Instead, some unseen force seemed to lift him from the ground and send him tumbling through the air; seemingly through time and space itself.  
  
When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer being a silent observer in Voldemort's lair, but was instead a silent observer to another conversation. From what he could make of his surroundings, he was in floating in a void, yet it was not dark. A steady golden glow lit up the surrounding area, but no detail could be revealed. However, he was given no time to contemplate his situation any further.   
  
Voices were speaking, and Harry found himself captivated by what seemed to be an argument taking place.  
  
{Dangerous, this is. Afford to interfere in the lives of other galaxies and times we can not. The Force forbids it.}  
  
{But why does the Force forbid it, Master? Surely, you aren't' going to use that argument that he is too old and too set in his ways to learn the ways of the Force!  
  
{Adventure and excitement, the boy craves not. A good sign this is. But never before have we assisted someone from another galaxy. No one will there be to help him on the physical plain.}  
  
{Besides, he is too old.} This was a third voice.  
  
{Ah, c'mon off it, Master Windu. That old fashion belief died out long ago. Just look at what Luke has done with the new Jedi. He doesn't even accept them below the age of sixteen.} This was yet another voice.  
  
{You are right, young Anakin. Your son has indeed evolved the Jedi's ways and beliefs from our own. Yet, you could have phrased your argument differently and with slightly more tact.} There was a smile in the older man's voice.  
  
Before the argument could continue, Harry found himself again experiencing the sensation of being swept away, but this time when he opened his eyes, he did so for real. Groggily, he sat up in his small cramped bedroom at Number Four, Privet Drive, wondering what in the heck was going on, and why there seemed to be a tangible presence hovering tantalizingly on the edge of his conscious awareness, close enough to sense, but not close enough to touch.  
  
TBC 


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two  
  
Once his senses were fully reintegrated, Harry stared around in amazement. The amazement stemmed from the simple fact that the sun was just cresting the eastern horizon. It was the first time he had slept for more than a few fitful minutes since the end of the Triwizard Tournament. Not only had he gotten a decent amount of sleep, he realized next, but he had also, for the first time since he had begun at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, missed being awake for his birthday. Judging by the appearance of the sun, Harry had been fifteen now for nearly seven hours.  
  
Glancing more carefully around the smallest bedroom of Number Four, Privet Drive, Harry realized that at least someone had not forgotten his birthday. No, that was incorrect, several someone's. Grinning, Harry's eyes fell on a half dozen owls waiting patiently on the window sill or wherever they could find perches.  
  
Harry first turned his attention to his own snowy owl, Hedwig. The beautiful bird had a rectangular package strapped to her leg along with a note. If he had to guess, Harry would have to believe that the expression on Hedwig's face was one of smug satisfaction as if to say "of course I remembered it was your birthday". Unwrapping the parcel from her leg, Harry was elated to see the neat and someone loopy script of one of his best friends at Hogwarts, Hermione Granger. Ripping open the envelope, Harry began to read:  
  
Dear Harry:  
  
How are you doing? I know its only been a couple of weeks since I last saw you, but I can't help thinking about you and wondering if you are okay. After the end of the last school year, I have had my concerns.  
  
I was going to go see Viktor Krum in Bulgaria; however, when I told my parents, they nearly had a fit. They seem to think that "Vicky" (ironic how they use the same name for him that Ron does) is too old for me and that he is only after me because he is too ugly to get a girl his own age. Maybe I shouldn't have shown them his picture, but then I guess things would probably have been worse. I mean, I know he is not the best looking guy on the block, but that is not his fault. Oh well, that is enough complaining on my part for now.  
  
I am going to go to The Burrow in a few weeks. I hope that your aunt and uncle will allow you to come as well. Ron is practically begging me to go there now, because he claims that the twins are about to send him to St. Mongo's with all of their new inventions. He doesn't know how, but he seems to think that someone has given the twins a lot of money to continue their plan for a joke shop.  
  
Oh well, write me back when you get a chance. I hope to see you soon. I miss you Harry, and never forget that you have friends who love you.  
  
Enjoy your present.  
  
Love from,  
Hermione  
  
Harry reread the letter a couple of times, all the while with a big smile plastered on his face. It was nice to know he had such loving friends as Hermione. Ron was great, but he did not have the ability or the patience to show his concern in the same way that Hermione did.  
  
Tearing off the paper on her present, he was happy, if not surprised, to see a beautifully bound leather book inside. Looking at the title, he was even more pleased. The book was called 'The Aurors Guide to Dueling' by .. .. ..  
  
Harry's eyes widened at the author. It was a name he had heard only a couple of times before. Each time had been in Dumbledore's office. The author of the book was Frank Longbottom. Briefly, Harry wondered if Neville knew his father had written such a work. He made a mental note to discuss it with him once they returned to school. Maybe he'd even send his classmate an owl. He had the feeling that Neville was never included in any activity with fellow Hogwarts students outside of school. He'd have to try and change that. After all, Neville was not only his dorm mate but his friend, accident prone even though he was.  
  
Harry set it aside carefully, making a mental note to thank Hermione very soon. He next turned his attention to the small flying ball of fluff that was Ron's owl Pigwidgeon. Once he had captured the annoying fiend, he tore off the wrappings on Ron's package. Inside, he was not surprised to find a box of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans. Ron's note was fairly short, and by the time he was finished reading it, Harry was clutching his sides with barely suppressed howls of laughter.  
  
Harry:  
  
Hope you like these beans. They are the normal ones, I promise. The terror twins have made a new flavor, one they call "After Dinner Gas". The first time I tried one, I had to run outside and spit it out. Whoever thought a smell could be converted so accurately in to a taste.  
  
Anyway, life here is good. Ginny wanted to send you one of her bras, but I told her not to bother as she had nothing to show off anyway. I got slapped for that one.  
  
Mum and dad are still trying to convince Dumbledore to let you come to The Burrow. I'll keep you posted.  
  
Don't let the Muggles get you down.  
  
Ron  
  
Finally, Harry got his laughter under control enough to resume with the presents. Sirius had sent him a book on becoming an animagus. Harry made a note to himself to read that book carefully. After all, he had the legacy of his father to uphold, and if he could convince Ron and Hermione to join him in his venture, then all would be right with the world.  
  
The twins sent Harry a box of their latest joke products, including the previously mentioned After Dinner Gas Beans. Harry thought his laughter would wake up his horrid relatives when he uncovered a box of Weasley Wankers, condoms that were supposed to change shape and make comments about your anatomy as you tried to put them on.  
  
The fifth owl contained a small box and a brief note.  
  
Harry:  
  
Enclosed is a piece of property that I believe belongs to you. Also, Hagrid has asked me to forward his birthday present to you as he is not in a position to write to you. Have no fear though. He is well. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley are still wanting you to go to The Burrow. If I can set up security measures that I believe will be adequate, I will contact you. Otherwise, I am sorry to say that you will need to stay with your relatives.  
  
Take care Harry from your friends at Hogwarts.  
  
Albus Dumbledore  
Headmaster  
  
Harry opened the box. Inside was a beautiful gleaming hunting knife with the carved head of a lion engraved in to the handle. Also enclosed was a handsome leather sheath for the blade. This present pleased Harry greatly and he knew that it must be from Hagrid. Leave it to the gentle giant to cheer him up even without uttering a single word.  
  
Also inside, to Harry's great relief and pleasure, was the Marauder's Map which had been borrowed by the fake Mad-Eye Moody the previous school year and, Harry had decided long ago, he had never expected to see it again.  
  
Feeling happier than he had in a long time, Harry turned his attention to the final owl. Opening the package it contained, Harry was nonplussed. Inside was an odd assortment of items, most of which Harry had no idea what they were. The only thing he recognized was a fairly small sheet of metal and a couple of things that looked like crystals of some sort. Harry was just about to look back to the owl to see if he had missed a parchment tied to its leg when a small folded piece of paper caught his eye. It was folded underneath the parts in the box. Carefully fishing it out, Harry read the following:  
  
Mr. Potter:  
  
When the time comes, the Force will show you what you need to know. In the meantime, keep this box close to you and keep it secret.  
  
There was no signature.  
  
Harry sat back, the earlier good mood dampened somewhat. He had nearly forgotten about his peculiar dreams with the realization of the fact that it was his birthday. Now, however, he was more curious than ever. Finally, however, he decided there was nothing he could do until he had more information. Deciding to make the best of things, Harry lay back on his bed, glancing happily at his gifts. Idly, he wondered how Dudley would like to try out some of Gred's and Forge's inventions. Maybe he'd get a chance to find out.  
  
TBC 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three  
  
Breakfast around the Dursley house was always an eventful time of the day. This morning was no different. It began calmly enough. Harry came downstairs at around seven in the morning and started breakfast. Dudley was still supposed to be on the diet that Smeltings had strongly insisted upon the previous year, however, Harry was certain that he never stuck with it. If anything, Harry thought he was now so large that if by some miracle Dudley were to fall in love, he'd probably break it with his enormous mass.  
  
Breakfast this particular morning consisted of three eggs for Uncle Vernon and Dudley with several strips of bacon and a half dozen slices of buttered toast each. Aunt Petunia claimed that this was definitely a diet for her Dinky-Dudleydums, and if that horrid school had a problem with the diet, they would just take him away from that awful place. Petunia herself could hardly manage to put away a single egg and a piece of toast. Harry idly wondered why she could not eat more. After all, she must have plenty of extra room in her exceedingly long neck to store as much food as that eaten by Uncle Vernon and Dudley.  
  
And still things continued normally. Not five seconds after Harry had gotten the last of the food off of the stove and on to plates, the foundations of the house began to shake. Harry wasn't alarmed though. Sure enough, the doors of the kitchen opened enough to admit Dudley. Pushing and grunting, he managed to force his whale-sized carcass through the doors to the kitchen and waddled as fast as he could to his place at the table. Dropping himself in to the thrice-reinforced steel frame of the chair, he began to berate Harry loudly for his food. Harry wordlessly brought it over and plunked it down in front of him.  
  
His uncle's entrance was slightly less noticeable, but only slightly. His aunt on the other hand might not have even existed so little sound did she make on her way to the table.  
  
They had almost finished eating when the normality of the morning was shattered by the sound of the mail being dropped off in the slot.  
  
"Get the mail, Dudley," Vernon Dursley grunted without looking up from his morning paper (Harry had learned early on to make sure that his uncle had the paper at his spot when he arrived in the kitchen).  
  
"Make Harry get it," the whale of a boy replied.  
  
"Get the mail, Harry."  
  
"Make Dudley get it," Harry replied, inwardly grinning as he remembered a similar situation nearly five years ago.  
  
Then, however, the conversation changed from what had happened before.  
  
"Boy, you will get the mail and not complain again or there'll be trouble," his uncle spat at him, hitting him in the face with a bit of chewed egg as he sprayed his mouthful in his anger.  
  
Harry had had enough. He wasn't so much angered at his uncle's attitude toward him as he was fed up with it. At this last statement by his uncle, accompanied by the offending egg, something inside Harry changed. He felt a sense of determination to make his uncle see that he would not put up with it anymore.  
  
Not knowing what he was doing, Harry raised his hand, moved it in a slight side to side motion, and stated matter-of-factly, "you will make Dudley get the mail."  
  
Vernon's reaction to this could not be more of a shock to his nephew as the man swiveled toward Dudley and said, without emotion, "you will get the mail this instant, Dudley."  
  
And Dudley went. He was so shocked by this attitude from his father that he forgot even to fake some tears to get himself out of it. Petunia, too, was nonplused.  
  
Not knowing what had happened and not wanting to stick around for his relatives' wrath, Harry fled the kitchen, retreating back to the relative safety of his bedroom.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
'Did I just do that', was Harry's first confused thought after he slammed the door to his bedroom? His heart was racing as if he'd just run a marathon and his hands were shaking as he picked up his quill and, to distract his thoughts from the morning's odd events, began to write thank you notes to all of his friends.  
  
Soon enough, however, he was finished with that and his mind had nothing to do but to continue to think about what had happened.  
  
He hadn't felt much different. He felt no more or less helpless than usual as his aunt and uncle treated him like particularly vile dirt. Only his determination to not be bullied and bossed by them anymore had been different. He had felt that if he gave in this one more time, he would be lost to himself forever. There was no better explanation than that.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
{Decided, it is then?}  
  
Harry was back in the same place as the night before. It was the same black void, the same voices, and seemingly the same argument picking up right where it had left off the last time.  
  
{It is apparent that we have no choice anymore. You saw what happened with his relatives this morning. The boy's powers are starting to emerge on their own.}  
  
This was the older rich voice again, the one that had been called Master Windu.  
  
{But who will train him, Masters,} the one called Anakin wanted to know.  
  
{Master Yoda,} the voice of Master Windu was speculative.  
  
{Assist, I will, if necessary. However, the primary training of young Potter I think should be left to another. What think you, Master Qui-Gon Jinn? Able to take on this challenge is Kenobi?}  
  
Harry's mind was in a whirl. What did they mean, train him? Who were these people with names that sounded like they belonged in some foreign court of royalty? Before he could answer any of these questions, a deep voice resonating power spoke.  
  
{It is as I said all those years ago, My Master. Obi-Wan is as ready as he will ever be. He has much to learn of the living Force, but he is ready and able to take on this assignment.}  
  
{Then, if certain you are, Master Jinn, introduce the two of them we shall.}  
  
And then, there was light. It was not bright at first, nor could Harry detect its exact color. It seemed to take several moments before the light became bright enough for him to see any of his surroundings. The light was a pale blue light, yet it seemed to radiate power, more power than Harry had ever seen in a person. Eventually, the light became so bright that Harry had to raise his hand to block out its intense glow. And then, it was over. The light peaked in its brightness, then seemed to implode, leaving behind a dull afterglow.  
  
Finally, Harry decided it was safe to lower his hand. What he saw pushed all questions of the phenomenon he had just witnessed from his mind.  
  
A man was standing there.  
  
He was neither tall nor short; he was muscular without appearing bulky; lithe and graceful as the fiercest predator yet with eyes gentled by wisdom and a deep loneliness. Harry stared at him for what seemed like ages, feeling himself drawn to the man as he had been to none save Dumbledore. Yet not even Dumbledore seemed to possess the inner confidence that seemed to radiate from the stranger.  
  
Harry opened his mouth without realizing he had any intention of doing so. What came out was also not anything he would have expected. {Cool haircut.}  
  
The man's auburn hair was neatly cropped to a short military style with only a single braid hanging down behind his ear. To Harry, this made him look all the more like a mythical character come to life. He was wearing a brown non-descript robe that looked slightly frayed around the edges and was held shut by a wide belt of some make Harry had never seen before. Attached to this belt there was a short tube that seemed to be made of some metallic substance and made Harry think of the mysterious handle he had received earlier that day.  
  
{I'm glad that I meet with your approval, young Mr. Potter.}  
  
The voice was more elegant than any voice Harry had ever heard. He thought he could probably live his whole life and never encounter another voice that could soothe, command, and promise all in the same breath.  
  
{Yes sir}, was all that Harry could mumble back.  
  
{We begin tomorrow night, young Padawan. A Padawan is the name for an apprentice to a Jedi. For now, it is time for you to wake up. Your assignment which begins tomorrow, but is a continuing assignment, is for you to try to remain calm at all times. Peace and tranquility is the first step to becoming a Jedi. It does not mean you can not feel emotions like fear, anger or anxiety, or any other emotion for that matter. It means that you must learn to recognize these emotions, then fight them off. I will show you how.}  
  
Harry had no time to ask questions before the scene faded abruptly, and he sat up groggily in his bed at Privet Drive.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Harry could not believe his luck. The Dursleys had gone up to see Aunt Marge for two whole days and steadfastly refused to take Harry with them. Aunt Marge had never set foot in Privet Drive since the horrible incident where she had been blown up like a balloon after making Harry too angry to realize what he was doing. For this reason, the Dursleys obviously refused to take Harry with them. Since Mrs. Figg, the old lady who usually watched over Harry while he was home for the summer and the Dursleys had to leave the house, wasn't home and they could find none of their other friends who would agree to watch their nephew, the family had grudgingly left him alone to fend for himself for the next two days.  
  
"Boy," Uncle Vernon had said before leaving the house. "This is your last chance here. You do anything---anything at all involving your funny business or freaky friends---and when you return to that freak school of yours it'll be without your eyeballs." Vernon Dursley had been so close to Harry when he said this that Harry could see a bit of meatloaf from last night's dinner lodged between two of his back teeth. Vernon had then raised his fingers and made a gouging motion towards Harry's eyes before spinning on his heel and storming out the front door, slamming it behind him with a decisive thud.  
  
Scarcely had the Dursleys' car left Privet Drive heading out of town then Harry abandoned his chores for some entertainment. He was hardly ever allowed to watch TV or do anything else while his relatives were home. If it involved anything Harry wanted to do that wasn't sit in his room, then Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia or Dudley would be sure to put a stop to it at once.  
  
With the skies promising rain, Harry decided that perhaps a movie was in order. Shrugging to himself as he perused the Dursleys' wide variety of films, he finally shrugged and chose one at random. Sitting back in Uncle Vernon's chair (Uncle Vernon would surely have ripped Harry's head from his shoulders if he had seen this) he started the movie and was immediately entranced. It was something called "Star Wars- A New Hope".   
  
He was thoroughly enjoying the plot about an evil empire trying to bring rule to an entire galaxy while a small outnumbered group of beings fought against them. The similarity to the situation with Lord Voldemort was quite striking. Substitute stormtroopers with Death Eaters and the resemblance would be uncanny.  
  
The name should have given it away, he would think later. However, it was not until ten minutes later that he saw something that made him sit straight up with a muffled cry of surprise. The young hero, Luke Skywalker, had just been overpowered by a couple of strange alien creatures called Sand People. They had then been busy looting his land speeder when a quivering cry had broken out. The Sand People, who looked quite intimidating to Harry, broke and scattered without a second's delay. Harry had watched eagerly as a shadow grew on the horizon of the planet with two sons (how cool is that, Harry had thought when he first saw the picture) and resolved itself in to the form of an old man.  
  
That was when Harry gasped.  
  
The man was older, hair much different from the vision he had seen him in, but when he first spoke "hello there", Harry was sure.  
  
It was Obi-Wan Kenobi.  
  
TBC 


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four  
  
If the Dursleys had owned a mirror like those in a wizarding household, the mirror would have had much to say regarding the actions of one fifteen-year-old wizard as he watched breathlessly as the events throughout the original Star Wars Trilogy unfolded. "Your jaw bone does not belong under the coffee table, boy," the mirror might have said. Or maybe it would be "Mr. Potter, your eyeballs do not belong on the living room wall but in your head". As it was, there was no one or no magical object to appreciate Harry Potter's fascination as he worked his way through one Star Wars film after another. To the Boy Who Lived, it felt as if he was personally living through the events of the movies. He watched with bated breath as the heroes managed to escape from Tattooine; he cried out in horror as the Death Star obliterated Alderaan; a grin of delight made its way on to his face as he appreciated Han Solo's and Obi-Wan Kenobi's skill in evading certain capture once aboard the Death Star. Every single action that seemed to happen to the main characters brought a reaction from the captivated boy. He felt a shattering sensation inside his chest as the evil lord, Darth Vader, cut down the old man Kenobi with his glowing red lightsaber. He jolted in shock as the old man's body disappeared in to thin air. He was just as amazed as Luke Skywalker to hear the voice of Kenobi, after being cut down, speak out clearly "run Luke, run".  
  
On and on he continued, watching as the Death Star was destroyed, stopping only long enough to switch tapes. He continued working his way through the next film, paying special attention to anything that mentioned the Force; after all, was he not supposed to begin training with said energy field that very night? His heart lurched as Vader's trap was sprung in Cloud City; he cheered silently as Luke was able to trip Vader and force him in to some pipes in the carbon freezing chamber. He again marveled at Luke's stupidity in following the Sith instead of using that opportunity to retreat. Wisdom, Harry had decided long ago, was knowing when you were outclassed and having enough common sense to get away if you could. Not, he had to admit to himself, that he'd always followed his own advice. He had to think back no further than the Chamber of Secrets to understand why Luke pursued Vader. It was to try and buy his friends time to escape.  
  
Shortly thereafter, he silently cheered as Luke scored a hit to Vader's shoulder with his lightsaber, then almost immediately cringed in sympathetic pain as a single stroke from the older man's blade sliced the young hero's hand off at the wrist.  
  
Harry followed carefully as Luke was tempted by Vader, and, like the former, was absolutely revolted and terrified at Vader's revelation of being Luke's father. He was gripping the arms of his chair with knuckles whitening as Luke and his friends made a harrowing escape in the Millennium Falcon just seconds before the tractor beam was able to ensnare them.  
  
By the time that all three movies were over, Harry was so shaken with emotion that he sat where he was, breathing heavily for many minutes. Luke Skywalker? Obi-Wan Kenobi, Darth Vader; all of them, Jedi or some twisted version of the same. What had made Vader become the twisted evil being that Kenobi had described? Was it some errant flaw in all would-be Jedi? Did he, Harry Potter, possess the ability to turn on all of those that he cared about and serve someone just to advance some hidden desire for power?  
  
He didn't think so. It would be a question to ask Kenobi in their next session. He didn't feel dark. But did that really mean anything?  
  
Deciding that he would be unable to get any answers for the time being, he decided to work on clearing his mind as his teacher had told him to do. Slowly, focusing on a single point on the edge of the nearest coffee table, he let his mind clear. It was not easy, not with all of the concerns and excitement of what he had just witnessed. Slowly, he felt his mind emptying of all anxiety and worry. He felt peaceful, calm, tranquil. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noted it was A similar feeling to the imperius curse. But unlike the imperius curse, this felt clean and untainted, almost alive. It felt like he could do anything, and this was a feeling he both relished and needed.  
  
Slowly through the euphoria of his Force trance, he began to see images. At first, they were just blurs, (a modest two-story house with a sign at the end of the driveway stating that this was "Godric's Hollow", a ramshackle house that looked like a stack of mismatched building blocks that Harry knew as The Burrow, and many more), then they began to slow down.  
  
He saw a run-down hut in the middle of a seeming desert of sand. The sunlight bouncing off the barren landscape was so bright that Harry could barely make out a lone figure kneeling in the sand against the most sheltered corner of the small building. He appeared to be working on a small mechanical device. As Harry watched, he saw him fit several small crystal pieces together into a slender and elegantly shaped cylinder. He saw the man's hands move with extreme care and growing confidence as he made some final adjustments to the handle and then closed it with a snap. It was only when he rose to his feet, pausing for a moment to stretch out the kinks from being in a kneeling position for such a long period of time, that Harry realized what he was seeing.  
  
He was seeing Luke Skywalker, and the handle that he was constructing was, Harry felt sure, his first true lightsaber, not the pale blue blade that belonged to Anakin Skywalker, Darth Vader, but the vibrant and alive green that Harry had come to believe signified Luke's own true personality. Sure enough, it was a brilliant green that appeared when Luke activated the newly constructed lightsaber, giving it an experimental wave to test the balance and weight.  
  
And then, the vision began to fade.  
  
The blowing sand and lone Jedi was replaced by the emaculate yet depressing interior of the living room of Number Four, Privet Drive.  
  
Harry stretched, feeling amazingly refreshed and alive. Glancing toward the window, he was greatly surprised to see the sun just breaking over the treetops to the east. To Harry, it had only seemed like he had been in the meditative trance for about an hour, yet in reality, a whole night had passed.  
  
Harry took only a moment to admire the rising sun before striding rapidly up the stairs and back to his room. The vision was fresh in his mind, and the time to act on what he had seen was now. He had the strong feeling that Obi-Wan had guided him to the vision for a reason, and it was now up to him to fulfill his master's wish.  
  
It was only a matter of moments to retrieve the mysterious package that had arrived for him on his birthday from under the loose floorboard in his bedroom. Emptying its contents on to his bed, he was not at all surprised to see the makings of a lightsaber spread out before him. He took a moment to admire the beauty of the crystal, the intricacy of the wires, and the perfection of the handle before him before drawing in a deep breath and sinking to his knees.  
  
He had a lightsaber to construct. He had no replacement parts, and he knew that failure was not an option. If he damaged any of the parts of his weapon, he had the distinct feeling that he would never find the parts to try again.  
  
Saying a last fervent prayer to the Force, to Merlin, any entity that would listen, Harry began to work.  
  
Four hours later, sweaty, hungry, shirt sticking to his skin with sweat, Harry finally straightened up, a beautifully crafted silver handle with black markings down the sides clutched in his right hand.  
  
"That was intense," Harry stated out loud. Hedwig hooted in agreement from her cage in the corner as if in agreement.  
  
"Well, no sense in waiting, is there, Hedwig?"  
  
Again, a hoot in response.  
  
Shifting his other hand to the saber as well, Harry took a deep breath and pressed the button set in to the grip.  
  
A snap-hiss sounded, and the blade shot out with a brilliant glow. Harry stared in awe at the blade. he had secretly believed that the blade of a lightsaber would reflect the true core of its maker's soul. Vader's blade was red (which Harry associated with anger and greed); Anakin's blade had been pale blue as though he had been a peaceful man yet someone who was insecure deep inside. Luke's bright green blade was to Harry a signal of growth. Luke had started as a naive boy from a back water farm on a desert planet and matured in a very short span of time in to someone who had been hit with more than his fair share of tragedies and had done his best to learn from his mistakes. The green signified his maturing in to the makings of a fine Jedi knight.  
  
And all of these thoughts which had been on Harry's mind when he activated his blade were also the basis for his consternation. He couldn't imagine what his blade could possibly show.  
  
The blade was pure gold. 


	5. Chapter 5

A.N. Sorry for the long delay. Singing engagements and work have been keeping me busy. I promise I will make an effort to release chapters much quicker.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Chapter 5  
  
The rest of the day passed in a blur for Harry. Mostly, he spent it experimenting with his new lightsaber, admiring its golden brilliance and how the gold seemed to give him a confidence in himself he so often lacked. At last, he was beginning to feel a little of the confidence which everyone around seemed to have in him. Of course, great care was exercised because Harry strongly believed that the Dursleys would not appreciate coming home to find their beautiful house and everything in it decapitated.  
  
Before he knew it, dinnertime had come and gone. After fixing himself some leftover meatloaf and mashed potatoes, Harry decided it was time to get to bed. IN fact, he was surprised he was not already nodding off with exhaustion. After all, had he not been in a trance that lasted the whole of the previous night?  
  
Climbing up to his room, he let Hedwig out of her cage, opened the window so that she might come and go as she pleased, and sprawled out on his bed, carelessly kicking off his shoes as he did so. Again, he attempted to calm his mind, but this time, he wanted it to be just enough to go to sleep. Apparently, it worked.  
  
To Harry, falling asleep had never been more strange. He seemed to feel himself drifting from the waking world down a long tunnel. This, in itself, was not strange. He often had this feeling while falling asleep after a long day. The strangeness began as instead of continuing to creep down the tunnel, he felt himself rising upward, higher and higher, and at last bursting through the roof of the tunnel in to a different realm. This was not the land of dreams that so often captured the minds of most living beings. This was something far different, far more alive. Harry didn't think he would ever get used to the sensations and wondered if he would experience them everytime he would go for his training.  
  
For sure enough, once the journey from the waking world ceased, he was in the strange void that he had been in twice before. There was the ghostly figure of Obi-Wan Kenobi waiting for him, a quiet content smile gracing his lips. At his side, graceful yet menacing, hung the now familiar cylindrical shape of his own deadly lightsaber.  
  
{I trust you enjoyed your experience in the realm that you Earthlings call Star Wars,} he asked, and Harry could detect the barest trace of amusement behind his mostly level tones.  
  
{It was definitely enlightening, Master,} Harry told him.  
  
Kenobi's next words bore no sign at all of his previous lightheartedness.  
  
{Harry, as I am sure you are aware, your world is entering a critical phase and a time of great change is near. The one called Voldemort grows stronger every day, and many lives will be lost in the coming struggle. Do only the best that you can; always keep your goals and intentions fixed firmly in your sites, and you will succeed.}  
  
Harry blinked back at Kenobi in some surprise. Sure, he knew that somehow Kenobi was able to reach him through his dreams and was able to offer him special training, but how could Kenobi know so much about his own world? Almost as if reading his thoughts, the older Jedi spoke again.  
  
{Harry, this realm that I am in is quite an unusual place. As you know from watching the movies, after I was struck down by my former pupil, my body disappeared. This is the realm that I was sent to. It allows me to see not only my own galaxy and time, but many others and to offer my assistance to those who will be able to utilize my help. I won't go in to any more detail than that because we have much to cover. Suffice it to say that I was able to spot you and your unique status in your own where and when, and as I also noticed great potential as a Force user, I have taken it upon myself, with the approval of several masters, to train you so that you may aid your world.}  
  
Harry had known all of this on some deep level. To hear it confirmed from the older man only forged more questions in his mind, but he decided that now was perhaps not the time to ask them. Instead, he asked a question much closer to home.  
  
{Master, I entered a trance last night and saw many things. I saw Luke Skywalker construct his first true lightsaber. I saw my friend Ron's house and the house where my parents lived before Voldemort murdered them. I don't understand the pattern of the events I saw. Nor do I understand the significance. Why show me these things at all?}  
  
{As you surmised earlier, I was able to show you the vision of Luke constructing his first lightsaber, but the other visions I had no control over. Oftentimes, that is the way of the Force. It may show you events of meaning or things that you have done in the past. It may show the future. It is very difficult to tell what will be or what significance may be contained in any vision. ,,,}{  
  
{The more experience you have in entering meditation, the more you will be able to understand what you see. Also, as you may have noticed, once you are in a trance, your body enters a restful state. If you enter a calm meditation and don't try to force visions, your body actually rests more efficiently than when sleeping. If you stay in a trance for about an hour per night, it will be as though you slept eight or nine hours. That is why you had so much energy yesterday as you stayed in the meditation for several hours.}  
  
Harry took all of this in without comment. That part about not needing as much sleep time could come in very handy while at school. Idly, he wondered if he could teach Hermione that technique. Kenobi's voice brought him out of his musings.  
  
{Harry, that is all I am going to teach you for tonight. I believe you have already learned quite a bit tonight, and what with your knowledge of events from watching the movies, I do believe you have a good basis for teaching yourself several things in the future. Once I leave you and you wake up, I want you to try and put yourself in to a meditation and start training your mind to relax itself and to let the Force flow through you. Remember, you are a user of the Force, not its controller. ,,,}  
  
{But don't forget, Harry, for this is very important. Don't give in to fear, anger or aggression. Remember what Yoda said. They are truly the path to the Dark Side. Young one, the Force is dying out on your planet. There is hardly any other being on Earth who can use the Force. I tell you this only because there will be no one in the waking world to help you with your abilities. ,,,}  
  
{Remember to combine what you learn with the magic you already know. I am telling you all of this now because I think you and I will not meet very often. I will provide you with what training I can. However, most of this burden lies upon you, for though I appear solid here in this place, this is the only place where I can do so. In other words, I can not do much for your physical training. That part of the burden lies upon you. Know only that the more fit you are, the better your body will be able to react in times when action is called for. I therefore advise you to start training every day; running, gymnastics, trying to exercise while moving objects with your mind. Luckily, I will be able to work with you on the use of the saber in this realm. ,,,}  
  
}My time is up for tonight, Harry. Take care, my young child till we meet again. I fear that many trials lie before you in the near future. May the Force be with you, as I will be.}  
  
And Harry was falling again. It was not an unpleasant feeling, rather more like the feeling you get on a roller coaster as it is coming to a complete stop. Only seconds later, he was sitting up on his bed at Privet Drive, his mind rapidly processing and turning over what Obi-Wan had told him.  
  
Remembering his last instructions, Harry went downstairs and fixed himself a plate of bacon and eggs. After eating this slowly while contemplating his lessons, he moved in to the living room and hunkered down on the carpeted floor, folding his hands on his lap and doing his best to clear his mind. It only took a few seconds. Feeling the wonderful untainted energy of the Force around him was a balm to his soul and senses, and he slipped in to the trance without noticing.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Half a dozen figures stood in front of a large Victorian-styled house that stood on a hill overlooking what appeared to be a small town, judging by the twinkling lights and muffled shouts of people who had possibly consumed a bit too much for their own good. Nothing would have been remarkable about these fine gentlemen if it had not been for the fact that no face was visible. Instead, six pairs of eyes peered through slits in six masks, and when a muffled word of command issued from the one that stood slightly in front of the others, six hulking shadows moved silently through the yard to the door.  
  
Once there, it did not remain silent for long. The leader raised a narrow stick of wood, muttered something that would have made no sense to anyone not familiar with the word, and the door to the abode was suddenly wrenched from its hinges. It made a loud boom as it impacted with the opposite wall of the foyer. Shortly afterward, and the figures moved quickly inside. Moments later, a man's head appeared at the banister of the second floor landing, peering down incredulously at the destruction in his home and, with mounting alarm, the unwelcome visitors. He was shortly joined by a woman and a younger girl, both of whom had looks of panic on their faces, although the girl's face showed understanding mixed in with the fear. Before any of the three could do so much as shout for help, three voices rang out. The word they cried might have been "Accio", but the onlooker was too shell-shocked to even pay attention.  
  
With these words, the three figures upstairs seemed to fly over the banister and move downward at a sickening speed, slowing down only when they were inches from the ground. Still, the impact was enough to send them each sprawling in undignified heaps at the feet of the now chuckling masked men.  
  
The girl murmured something that might have been "Death Eaters" to her parents, but one of the voices rasped "silencio", and no more sounds came from the doomed family.  
  
One of the figures reached up slowly and removed the mask from its face. The man beneath had platinum-blonde hair, cold grey eyes, and a smile on his face that looked more like a sneer than ever.  
  
"Well, well, well," he sneered. "I am honored to meet you all. Then again, Draco has told me so much about you, girl, that I feel I already know you intimately. However, I would never sink so low as to know a filthy little Mudblood intimately. My master has sent me here to find out where Potter lives, but I think before I even ask the question, we should have time for a little fun first."  
  
His sneering smile growing larger, Lucius Malfoy raised the narrow stick of wood, which was really his wand, and pointed it directly at the woman who lay cringing in terror. "Cruc----"  
  
{NNNNOOOOOOOO!}  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Heart hammering loudly in his chest, Harry Potter snapped out of the horrifying vision only long enough to faint dead away.  
  
TBC 


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6  
  
Consciousness returned after only a few moments. When it did, Harry sat up so fast and with such alertness that it would have made Mad-Eye Moody (the real one or the impostor) proud. Needless to say, Harry himself was rather shocked. That emotion was only topped by the rising tide of panic at the recollection of the vision that had caused his fainting spell in the first place.  
  
His first muddled thought was to risk exposure to the Muggles and fly his Firebolt (the amazing racing broom Sirius had given him in his third year at Hogwarts) to save the family. This idea was quickly quashed when he forced his fear down and ordered himself to look at the situation logically. First of all, he had no idea whether or not what he had seen had taken place during the day or at night. Looking out the window, he was relieved to see the sun barely at the noon position. Second, and more pressing, was the uncertainty as to whether what he had witnessed was a thing of the past or future. Yet, now that he stopped to think about it, there was one slim hope. He remembered the figures in the cloaks had all been bathed in shadows, which normally suggested little light. Since they were standing outside in the middle of the lawn, and as he remembered he thought he had heard drunken singing, he was forced to the conclusion that the attack would happen or, Merlin forbid, had already happened, at night. He was certain that it had not been the present as the sky outside in his vision (from what he could remember) had shown the first feeble light of the new moon. No, rushing off on his trusty broomstick to try and save the day certainly would help no one.  
  
His biggest problem, however, seemed almost insurmountable. He had no idea where in Merlin's creation Hermione Granger lived. He was still certain that his Firebolt would be the most secure and quick means of transportation. However, if he wasn't able to come up with the Grangers' location by nightfall, he might as well abandon his friend to torture and death. In short, failure was not an option.  
  
With his mind made up, Harry sprang to his feet and entered the kitchen in two long strides. A short search of the kitchen provided him what he wanted. It was a Greater London directory. Trying to keep himself calm, Harry thumbed rapidly through the enormous volume.  
  
"G. ,,, GE ,,, GO ,,, GU, damn too far. ,,, GR," Harry muttered to himself.  
  
Scanning quickly down the list, he felt his heart seize up. The name 'Granger' was not as uncommon as he had hoped. There were over forty listings in the Greater London area.  
  
He was about to slam the book shut in a bout of frustration when he froze. It was only a whisper, or perhaps it was the ghost of a voice he had heard before on television, but he was certain a voice had muttered in his ear "trust your feelings."  
  
With some difficulty, Harry was eventually able to calm his mind enough to take another look at the phone book. This time, he was much calmer, taking deep breaths and letting the energy of the Force flow through him again. Once his mind was completely focused on his task, he again looked down at the long list of Granger entries in the phone book.  
  
And suddenly, there it was.  
  
'Granger, Scott & Haylee'  
  
Staring at the entry, he had the fleeting impression of a chair, a short drill, and a large case containing what appeared to be at least a hundred toothbrushes.  
  
And he knew he was right.  
  
After all, Hermione's parents were both dentists. This was it.  
  
He only took the time to memorize the address before closing the book with a snap. Rifling through some more of his aunt's papers, he was pleased to locate an atlas of the area.  
  
The next few moments would have been a blur to anybody watching the young man. After carefully folding the atlas and stuffing it in his pocket, he was off, racing upstairs with only one thought on his mind: packing.  
  
Luckily, he had finished all of his school work earlier in the summer. Being bored and trying to forget the nightmarish end to his fourth year at Hogwarts had been more than enough of a motive for him to go ahead and complete his homework. Therefore, with all of his schoolbooks already packed away in his trunk with his homework, it was only a matter of tossing in the few extra clothes lying around his room that he would not be totally embarrassed to be seen in. Once all of this material, plus all of his birthday gifts, were securely stored in the trunk, Harry paused only long enough to retrieve his beloved Firebolt from the bottom of the trunk and, after a moment's deliberation, also snatched up the Invisibility Cloak that had once belonged to his father. After all, if he was to escape with as little punishment as possible, it would not do to be seen by Muggles if he could help it.  
  
He had one other task to perform before he could leave. Rousing Hedwig from her sleep (Hedwig was not at all slow in hooting her displeasure over this treatment), he wrote two hurried notes.  
  
Dear Professor Dumbledore:  
  
I have reason to believe that Hermione Granger's house will be attacked by Death Eaters in the near future. I have had a vision of such an attack happening at night, and I can not afford to think that what I have seen has already happened. Please send help to her location as soon as you can. I am going myself, and I will do whatever I must to get there, Ministry of Magic or no.  
  
Please help,  
  
Harry  
  
He tied this note to Hedwig's leg and after another hoot of irritation with her young master, she spread her wings and soared out of the window that Harry opened for her.  
  
The second note was much shorter.  
  
Dursleys,  
  
Gone probably for the summer, if I can help it.  
  
Your freakish nephew and/or cousin,  
  
Harry  
  
At last he was ready. Clipping his lightsaber to his belt, he raised his wand without hesitation and pointed it at his trunk. On a whim, he closed his eyes, visualized the beauty of the Force surrounding him, and focused it on the trunk. He imagined the trunk shrinking in size until it was no larger than a wallet before opening his eyes. He was elated to see that the combination of his wand and the Force had indeed allowed him to shrink his trunk, hopefully without alerting the goons at the Ministry. Even if he was not to be so lucky, Harry was beyond caring. Scooping up the trunk and placing it in his pocket, Harry donned the Invisibility Cloak, mounted his Firebolt, and following Hedwig's example, he sped out the open window, soaring away from Privet Drive, the cloak managing to barely cover him and his broom.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
If the Muggle eye could pass through countless Concealment Charms, the commuters that frequently passed through King's Cross Station night have been more than a little surprised to notice a new track squashed in between platforms nine and ten. They might had been even more surprised if they followed these tracks northward, leaving the city of London behind quickly and plunging through increasingly less populous country. If one followed these tracks far enough, one would eventually pass out of England and in to its neighbor to the north, Scotland. And, finally, if persistence paid off and one reached the end of the tracks, one would find oneself in the somewhat quaint village of Hogsmeade. Or, at least, quaint is how the little village would appear to Muggles. However, there was nothing quaint about the cozy all wizarding village.  
  
But let us not dwell on this tiny oasis of humanity in the middle of a deserted moor. Instead, let us continue northward through Hogsmeade not stopping to gape at the sign over a door reading 'The Three Broomsticks'. Let us not wonder too much at the strange hooting noises coming from the building marked simply "Post Office". For none of these shops, interesting as they are, have led us to travel so far from our starting point. Instead, let us walk on up the road, perhaps clutching a cloak rather tightly to ward off the chill of a late August afternoon.  
  
And then, rounding a final curve in the road, we finally see our objective. The view is breathtaking! For what we see, again minus the Concealment Charms that have been so painstakingly enforced over countless centuries to keep Muggles away, is a splendid castle. Its turrets catch the fading afternoon sunlight, perhaps like the teeth of some hopefully long extinct monster. Its broad iron gates look slightly foreboding. Indeed, if it is not for the tiny winking lights that spill from the hundreds of windows in the castle, one might be tempted to flee in the opposite direction on general principle. However, we do not flee. Instead, incredibly as it may seem, we find ourselves rising in to the air and drifting, yes actually drifting, through the crisp afternoon air toward the mammoth structure. In fact, we drift so near to the edifice that we can catch the occasional glimpse through the windows in to the lighted interior.  
  
We see a large hall, its ceiling showing a an exact replica of the outside conditions. Below, we see the vague outlines of five tables. Each of these tables seems to have a banner hanging over it. One such banner might contain a lion in golds and reds. Another might be a badger.  
  
But before we can see more, we rise higher and circle around to the northeast corner of the castle, where it appears we have reached our final destination.  
  
The room we are now viewing is one of the strangest rooms we have probably ever seen. Strange, whirring contraptions seem to litter every surface that is not covered in books or assorted papers. Many pictures seem to cover the walls, most of them depicting distinguished looking older men and women, all of whom seemed to have a strangely wise or unsettling cunning look about them.  
  
We have barely enough time to realize the office is devoid of any life, save for a magnificent golden-red bird that perches contentedly on a stand in the corner of the office, when we are interrupted from our perusal by a hooting noise getting ever louder. Eventually, we are somewhat surprised to see a snowy white owl zoom right past us and in to the open window of the office. And seeing the arrival of this bird at nearly sundown on this day in early August, we start to get an uneasy feeling in our stomach, as if perhaps we should not be floating here and peering in to this most sacred of rooms uninvited. No sooner do we think this then, with a pop, we disappear, leaving the castle of Hogwarts behind with its very few occupants.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
As soon as Hedwig soared through the window in to the office of the headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, only to find it empty, than she gave a frustrated hoot and perched herself on the beautiful oak desk that took up a large portion of the office. Hooting a hello to the beautiful phoenix that called this room home, Hedwig settled down to wait. After all, had her master not told her to deliver this to the headmaster as soon as possible.  
  
And so, as certain events ground in to Motion in the outside world, the faithful snowy owl waited to complete her mission.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Half a dozen figures stood in front of a large Victorian-styled house that stood on a hill overlooking what appeared to be a small town, judging by the twinkling lights and muffled shouts of people who had possibly consumed a bit too much for their own good. Nothing would have been remarkable about these fine gentlemen if it had not been for the fact that no face was visible. Instead, six pairs of eyes peered through slits in six masks, and when a muffled word of command issued from the one that stood slightly in front of the others, six hulking shadows moved silently through the yard to the door.  
  
Once there, it did not remain silent for long. The leader raised a narrow stick of wood, muttered something that would have made no sense to anyone not familiar with the word, and the door to the abode was suddenly wrenched from its hinges. It made a loud boom as it impacted with the opposite wall of the foyer. Shortly afterward, and the figures moved quickly inside. Moments later, a man's head appeared at the banister of the second floor landing, peering down incredulously at the destruction in his home and, with mounting alarm, the unwelcome visitors. He was shortly joined by a woman and a younger girl, both of whom had looks of panic on their faces, although the girl's face showed understanding mixed in with the fear. Before any of the three could do so much as shout for help, three voices rang out. The word they cried might have been "Accio", but Hermione Granger was too shell-shocked to even pay attention.  
  
With these words, the horrified girl and her defenseless parents seemed to fly over the banister and move downward at a sickening speed, slowing down only when they were inches from the ground. Still, the impact was enough to send them each sprawling in undignified heaps at the feet of the now chuckling masked men.  
  
The girl murmured something that might have been "Death Eaters" to her parents, but one of the voices rasped "silencio", and no more sounds came from the doomed family.  
  
One of the figures reached up slowly and removed the mask from its face. The man beneath had platinum-blonde hair, cold grey eyes, and a smile on his face that looked more like a sneer than ever.  
  
"Well, well, well," he sneered. "I am honored to meet you all. Then again, Draco has told me so much about you, Granger, that I feel I already know you intimately. However, I would never sink so low as to know a filthy little Mudblood intimately. My master has sent me here to find out where Potter lives, but I think before I even ask the question, we should have time for a little fun first."  
  
His sneering smile growing larger, Lucius Malfoy raised the narrow stick of wood, which was really his wand, and pointed it directly at the woman who lay cringing in terror. Lying on the floor in front of their attackers, Hermione cringed, suspecting what was to come.  
  
"Finite," Malfoy said silkily.  
  
Remembering this spell was the one to cancel others, Hermione finally understood. Malfoy wanted entertainment, and he wanted it to be very vocal. As if in affirmation, Malfoy raised his wand again, smile broadening, and this time bellowed "Crucio!"  
  
Hermione tried desperately to think of a way out of their situation. Why, oh why had she left her wand upstairs? After the event of Voldemort's return, supposedly being one of the smartest students ever to pass through the doors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and, most importantly, friends with the famous Harry Potter, how could she not have known better? Even as her mother's first agonized shriek filled the air, Hermione found herself on the verge of tears, not only because of the horrible curse her mother was being subjected to, but also because she knew that even had she had her wand with her, she knew of no spells with which to take on one Death Eater, let alone half a dozen.  
  
Vaguely, she realized that her throat was sore and that it was because she was screaming in sorrow and horror, the scream mixing in with the older woman's howls of agony. Someone must have released her from the Silencing Spell as well.  
  
Finally, mercifully, the wand was lifted.  
  
"Now that the screaming sisters have started their concert, perhaps we can get down to business," Lucius Malfoy asked conversationally. "I'll make you a deal, Mudblood! Tell me where Potter lives, and I promise to kill your parents quickly. Refuse, and I may just let Mr. Avery here have his way with you while I subject you to the Cruciatus Curse. So, Mudblood, start talk---"  
  
And then, filling the doorway behind Malfoy and his cronies, appeared a vision that seemed to consist of glowing green eyes, messy black hair, and a funny lightning-shaped scar. But it was no vision that grabbed Malfoy by the back of his robes. It was no vision that spun him around with so much apparent ease that it caused Hermione to gasp.  
  
And it was no vision that said in a completely calm voice "why Mr. Malfoy, I do believe you are looking for me."  
  
The shock on Lucius Malfoy's face was so comical that Hermione wished in some crazed part of her mind that Colin Creevey was near by so that he might take a photograph of the hysterical and horrifying picture. All too soon, however, the older man's look of surprise was replaced by one of complete and utter triumph. Satisfaction laced his voice as he spat out vehemently, "Potter!"  
  
TBC 


	7. Chapter 7

A.N.: To those of you who have reviewed, I thank you. Your positive feedback has made this story even more enjoyable to write than it already was. Keep those reviews coming.  
  
Oh, a vote is in order. How about a Ron/Buckbeak paring? Just kidding.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Chapter 7  
  
It was not often that Lucius Malfoy was to be found with a genuine smile on his face. In fact, the last time that one had made an appearance on that haughty countenance had been at the birth of his son, Draco, a male heir to the vast Malfoy estates. However, even as he was yanked around to face the whelp who had interrupted his little Muggle torture party and as he spat out the word "Potter", that unfamiliar gesture once again crossed his face.  
  
It did not last long.  
  
Malfoy opened his mouth to speak again, perhaps to voice a hearty laugh at his good luck, but then he got a look in the boy's eyes, and the laughter died on his lips as if slapped away.  
  
Something about Potter was very different. He was still a very skinny boy with untidy black hair and round glasses perched atop his nose. He still had the distinctive lightning shaped scar over his brow, and he still had that infuriating expression of quiet strength on his face that had made the elder Malfoy want to whip out his wand and hex the boy in to the next century on countless occasions.  
  
Only the eyes were different. They were calm, with a deeper look of understanding showing from their green depths than Malfoy had ever seen, save maybe in Albus Dumbledore and the Dark Lord. They made the boy look capable of almost anything, and the feeling made Malfoy react unconsciously. Thus it was that barely a second after he had spat out the boy's name like he had just swallowed hippogriff dung than his wand was lifting and he was bellowing "Stupefy!"  
  
The jet of red light that shot from the wand tip was very powerful. Even so, Malfoy was astounded to see the boy, instead of reaching for his wand, merely raise his hand, palm outward, and move it in front of the jet of red light. For a split second, Malfoy had the wild fear that the brat would somehow be able to block the curse, but then the red light made contact with Potter's chest, lifting him off his feet and depositing him on his back, staring in surprise up at the ceiling of the Grangers' foyer.  
  
Surprised, Malfoy bent over the boy to examine him. Sure enough, he was out cold. Sneering in satisfaction, he reached down, ignoring the funny-shaped handle attached to Potter's belt, and pulled the boy's wand from his front pocket. With a muttered curse and a quick wrench, the noble wand of holly and phoenix feather dropped from his hand, snapped in two, bits of feather protruding from each piece like accusing fingers.  
  
Hearing a gasp of horror behind him, Malfoy turned back to the Grangers, smirk returning to his face. Now that he had Potter, he thought he might as well use this time for an educational purpose.  
  
"Well, Mudblood, it appears we have our objective much sooner than expected. I know not how Potter knew we were here, but right now, I really don't care. As we have him, you and your worthless Muggle parents are of no further use to the Dark Lord. However, they may prove useful tonight. Clemens," this last was barked like an army general summoning his troops.  
  
One of the shorter cloaked figures stumbled forward to stand in front of Lucius, bowing his head slightly.  
  
"This is the chance for your first kill, the chance to show your loyalty to the Dark Lord's glory. . Put the Mudblood down!"  
  
With no hesitation, the man called Clemens turned to face Hermione and her parents. At the same instant, his mouth opened, and he uttered the two most feared words in the wizarding world.  
  
"Avada Kedavra!"  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Scott Granger was normally a brave man. He would not have thought twice about facing down an armed gunman if one had been foolish enough to attempt to break in to his house. However, dealing with these men, or heartless replicas of men, was a different story. He found it impossible to fight what he did not understand. Every since his daughter had received her Hogwarts letter, he had grown accustomed to the idea that there would always be things that he would never understand, aspects of his daughter's life as a witch that would constantly cause him to shake his head in wonder or amazement. However, he had not believed for a moment that it would contain so many perils.  
  
After hearing of her adventures with Harry Potter and Ron Weasley in her first year, he had been proud of the part his daughter had played in the whole affair of the Sorcerer's Stone. At that time, his pride had easily overshadowed his caution as his daughter finally had friends, something she had sorely lacked previously.  
  
His concern had started to mount a little more noticeably after the second year, and even years later, he still got a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of his daughter lying petrified and helpless at the mercy of some monster which even she did not understand fully. His wife, too, had been slightly reluctant to let their one and only child return to Hogwarts. But they had given in easily, seeing how much Hermione was enjoying her school and listening to her rave about how noble Harry Potter was, with occasional mentions of Ron thrown in as if in afterthought.  
  
The third year had done nothing for his nerves either. He had received the letter from the headmaster at Hogwarts shortly before Hermione had returned home. He had been shocked to hear of his daughter's run-in with the notorious murderer, Sirius Black. Even he knew that name. Had Black not been on the normal news quite frequently over the past year? To hear that his daughter had actually met the man and escaped with her life sent cold shivers of foreboding down his spine. When she'd gotten home that summer, he had, for the first time, mentioned his misgivings about her returning to the wizarding world; only to receive a shock! Not only had his beloved child met Sirius Black, but she, along with Harry Potter, had contrived his escape from the Ministry of Magic after learning of his innocence. This explanation had taken a long time, with Scott interrupting often with questions about Animagi and werewolves and other such magical terms. Although he had heard of werewolves before, he had been intrigued and slightly curious to have them described to see how much they actually varied from Muggle tales. After nearly half an hour of listening to Hermione talk about how much she had learned from her werewolf professor and how much he had done for her and Harry, he had idly wondered if he might ever have the chance to meet Remus Lupin.  
  
His daughter's explanation had curved his apprehension somewhat, and he had relented in his decision to not allow her to return to Hogwarts.  
  
How he wished he had stuck with his initial idea.  
  
Two days before the last term of her fourth year ended, he had been visited by none other than Sirius Black. After getting over the initial shock of seeing the large bear-like dog turn in to a man right in front of him and remembering his daughter's tale of the man, he had invited the convict in for dinner. It was during this meal that he learned of the Dark Lord's return and the events surrounding it.  
  
He did not have the same understanding of the impact that this could have on the world, wizarding and Muggle alike, until Black had explained about Voldemort's first rise to power. Before the Animagus left that night, his mind was made up. His daughter's life would be in enough danger without exposing her to the increasing hardships in the wizarding world. Without consulting his wife, who had been away at a dental convention in Brussels, he had gone and enrolled his daughter at the local high school. He would tell her at the end of the summer, he decided, not wanting to have her moping around during her vacation.  
  
Now, it appeared as though he could lay his worries about her safety to rest, for the Dark Lord's servants had sought them out, all to try and get at the Potter boy. Now, it appeared, that her friendship with the lad was going to cost her the ultimate price.  
  
He had nearly jumped out of his skin when the front door had been blasted in, then shocked once he had caught a glimpse of the masked and hooded figures that crowded in to his cozy home. His amazement over the turn of events had switched to horror as he was seized by an invisible hand and sent hurtling over the banister to crash on the tiled floor of the foyer several feet below along with his wife and daughter. That horror had only deepened when the blond-haired man had begun taunting Hermione, and peaked when the man had caused his wife to shriek in agony without even touching her.  
  
He had been about to lunge at the man, wand or not, despite his followers, when the curse had been lifted. He had been even further relieved at the Potter boy's appearance behind the masked men, wondering distantly how in hell the boy had found them. However, seeing the boy blasted off his feet before he could do anything to free them brought the fear back to his throat, choking him like a lump of coal.  
  
When he heard the order given for his daughter's death, all reasoning left him. He knew he could do nothing to these men, even if he had a gun, but he was not about to allow his daughter's death while he was still breathing.  
  
So it was that as Clemens uttered the two words Scott Granger had never heard before, yet knew instinctually what they did, the man lunged from the floor, throwing himself across the helpless body of his daughter. Even as he did so, he saw the ominous green light heading toward him, knowing what it meant.  
  
'Goodbye, Hermione. Goodbye, Haylee. I love you both."  
  
He closed his eyes.  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Hermione screamed as the two fatal words were spoken, then let out a muffled "ooomph" as her father's weight slammed in to her. Realizing what was going on, her eyes widened in terror as she saw the green light heading straight for them.  
  
She was screaming again, sound muffled by her father's bulk. The Death Eaters were laughing raucously in anticipation of the kill.  
  
And the snap-hiss caused five of the Death Eaters to whirl around, surprise evident in their stances.  
  
Clemens did not turn; instead, he fell to the floor in two neatly cauterized sections, a hint of a sneer still visible beyond the mask that had slipped partially off as he was bisected. The green light too had been thwarted, green striking gold in a cataclysm of color and noise. The result was an enormous fireball which was swatted in annoyance at a second masked figure, causing him to go up like a torch. The sickening smell of frying flesh made Hermione regret the rather large roast beef dinner she had eaten earlier.  
  
All of this, though it took a while to describe, happened in less than two seconds. By that time, the golden light was extinguished and the wand that Lucius Malfoy had been gripping was wrenched from his hand by an invisible force and landed neatly in the outstretched hand of Harry Potter.  
  
Harry raised the wand at Malfoy, but before he could complete the Stunning Spell, Malfoy and the three other remaining Death Eaters had Disapparated.  
  
Swearing softly, and still fighting off the last lingering effects of the Stunning Curse, Harry stumbled woozily over to the grangers who lay on the ground, goggling at him in stupefaction.  
  
"H-H-Harry. What did you do," Hermione asked in utter amazement, and with a little trace of fear evident in her voice.  
  
Coughing slightly, Harry knelt down and peered in to her face to check that she was not harmed. As he gazed in to her depthless brown eyes, he felt something equivalent to an electric shock course through him. It was only a moment, but during that endless time between heartbeats, he forgot everything around him: the fact that her parents were slowly getting to their feet, Mr. Granger assisting an obviously injured Mrs. Granger; the fact that he had just killed two men, even though one had been unintentional; and, most important, the fact that the fire was spreading at an alarming pace around them.  
  
He was brought back to his senses when Mrs. Granger moaned in obvious pain. As he moved to assess the other two in the room, he wondered if the slightly dazed look on Hermione's face meant that she had felt it too.  
  
"Mr. Granger, Mrs. Granger. Can you both walk? We must get out of here immediately. Can you both walk?"  
  
"Now see here, young man," Hermione's father began. "We can't just rush away from here. The police must be notified and---"  
  
He broke off coughing, and looked around in confusion and growing despair.  
  
"Our house," Haylee Granger wailed weakly, following her husband's frantic look around.  
  
"Mrs. Granger, I have little doubt that those men who were just here have gone for reinforcements. We must leave here immediately. I am sorry about your house. I never intended for this to hap---"  
  
"Of course you didn't intend for this to happen, boy," Mr. Granger shouted angrily. "You never intend for things to happen."  
  
He might have gone on, had their not been an obvious groaning from several of the supports in the entrance hall. With a noise between a growl and a sob, Scott Granger picked his wife up in his arms and stumbled shakily from the house. Trying not to let his sorrow at the turn of events and the despair he felt at not being able to save the Grangers' home suffocate him as surely as the smoke was starting to do, Harry carefully bent down, scooped Hermione in his arms, with a little help from the Force, and followed her parents out of the dwelling, trying his best to ignore the sounds of destruction rising in volume behind him, trying to ignore the guilt attempting to force him to his knees, and most of all, trying to close his eyes against the sight of the once elegant structure now being consumed by the flames of the magical fire which continued its accelerated work with emotionless glee.  
  
TBC 


	8. Chapter 8

A.n Sorry for the long delay. I hope you enjoy this chapter, which is basically a reaction chapter.  
  
__________  
  
Chapter 8  
  
Even as Harry Potter landed silently on the lawn of Hermione Granger's house and began his self-appointed mission to rescue her and her parents from the dark fate that he had foreseen, other dark forces were at work to apprehend the Boy Who Lived. Never before had such an opportunity arisen in the past fourteen years, for never before had the Dursleys left the boy at home by himself for more than two hours. Now, however, the boy had resided at Privet Drive alone for over thirty hours. And this thirty hour time limit was the point that had needed to be breached in order for the wards that protected number four, Privet Drive to begin crumbling. It was a slow, gradual process, and not even Albus Dumbledore had more than a vague notion of exactly how long it would take for them to vanish completely. All that the great headmaster knew was that if Harry Potter resided alone at Privet Drive for more than this allotted time period, the protections that had been invoked would cease to aid him.  
  
Fortunate it was, therefore, that the Force had directed the young man off on his own.  
  
At first, the middle-class residents of Privet Drive noticed nothing amiss. They arrived home from work, turned on the evening news, enjoyed a cold beer or other beverage as they watched the events that had unfolded during the day, and generally followed the mechanics of living their completely ordinary lives.  
  
And thus it was that when the five dark figures in robes appeared at the corner of Privet Drive and its neighboring lane, no one took notice of them, or the fact that they just seemed to appear out of no where. The five figures moved quickly and silently down the street, making little effort of concealment. Anyone who had looked out of a window and seen the five trudging grimly toward number four would have noticed nothing out of the ordinary save for the strange dress.  
  
The figures made it all the way to the door of number four without incident, then paused. Silence permeated the air like a thick oppressive blanket.  
  
Then, one of the figures nodded toward another. This one moved to the door, unholstering a wand as it went. The sight of a small stick of wood gleaming in a metallic silver hand was quite a sight to see.  
  
The figure muttered a quiet word of command when he encountered a locked door, raising his wand as he did so.  
  
Yet, even though forty hours at least had passed since the Dursleys had left the boy at home, the wards were still up to the task. There was a low rumble, a flash of blue light, and Wormtail was catapulted backward, flying some ten feet in to the air and at least that far backward.  
  
It was a much dizzier and a slightly limping Wormtail that rejoined the group a minute later, swearing quietly under his breath at the futility of his efforts.  
  
And so the Dursley household might have survived had it ended there. Yet, it was no mere servant that led the expedition to destroy Harry Potter. It was no mere mortal that finally grew impatient at his mens' efforts to enter Potter's home. Thin face flushed with a snarl of fury, snake-like eyes glittering red in malice, skeletal form quivering in anticipation, Lord Voldemort drew out his wand, gave a wave, hissed a curse of deadly intent, and the door of number four, Privet Drive, burst in to a million smoldering fragments, taking chunks out of the surrounding wall with it.  
  
Once entry had been gained, the planned attack resumed. Voldemort's men swept the house, going room to room, destroying objects as they went. Dudley's television in the kitchen was sent flying in to the ice box with the single flick of a wand, and the resulting explosion of sparks was enough to ignite Aunt Petunia's expensive wine collection which she had stored just above the ice box. The resulting explosion was enough to spread the fire to surrounding objects, and so it continued.  
  
Leaving the rapidly burning kitchen behind, the figures spread more rapidly through the house, continuing their destruction of the Dursleys' belongings as they searched ever more frantically for the boy.  
  
It was Walden Macnair, the tall broad-shouldered executioner, who found the first clue as to the boy's whereabouts.  
  
It was Macnair's cry of anger that brought Voldemort hurrying up the stairs. Following the sounds of smashing wood as Macnair began destroying the small bedroom, the Dark Lord entered to see a sight that forced a howl of pure rage from his sinister figure.  
  
The window was open, and a bureau was leaning against the frame. It was all made clear in an instant to Harry Potter's would-be murderer.  
  
By the time that the neighbors next door first took note of the smoke that was slowly consuming Number Four, Privet Drive, the dark figures had already fled the house. With the apparition wards still in tact, they were forced to flee on foot. This they did, stopping only long enough for Voldemort to send 'Avada Kedavra' at the old woman standing in front of Privet Drive surrounded by cats. However, the sound of her lifeless body hitting the ground gave no satisfaction. Even as Macnair, venting his own frustration, pointed his wand at the old woman and muttered 'incendio', Voldemort was already striding toward the end of Privet Drive, the rest of the Death Eaters following like obedient dogs.  
  
Their portion of the night's mission had failed. For they now knew that the house at Privet Drive was empty, and Potter had gone.  
  
__________  
  
The doors of Hogwarts, enchanted to recognize friend from foe, swung smoothly open as the figure approached. Not even pausing a moment to take in the welcoming decor of the grand entrance hall, the figure bounded up the spiral staircase with seemingly endless energy. A few turns and another staircase later, it stopped before a rather imposing gargoyle. Only outside the entrance to the headmaster's office did the huge black dog transform. With a soft pop, a man was standing where the dog had been.  
  
Sirius Black had certainly filled out some since he had last been to Hogwarts to visit his godson. Though still on the run from the Ministry of Magic, the fact that he had been getting somewhat regular meals and had undergone a haircut worked wonders on his formerly emaciated appearance. So too did the fact that he had been able to purchase a new wand while under the effects of the Polyjuice Potion.  
  
The summer had been a busy one for Black. Following Dumbledore's orders at the disastrous end of the previous school year and the regeneration of Voldemort, Sirius had been busy rushing from one end of England to the other. Not having a wand had made things difficult. He had needed to avoid people as much as possible as he'd had no way to perform any Concealment Charms. Luckily for him, the list of contacts Dumbledore had given him had been rather brief, and he was as happy as he'd been in many years to see that the first stop was the residence of one of his best mates from his own days at Hogwarts: the werewolf, Remus Lupin.  
  
Luckily, Lupin had been there in person to see Peter Pettigrew revealed to still be alive and well in his Animagus form, and had witnessed first-hand the tearful confession of a once dear friend with regard to the actual betrayal of the Potters those twelve years ago.  
  
With Lupin, it had been merely a matter of filling him in on the rebirth of the Dark Lord for which Sirius was extremely grateful. He knew others of the Order would be far more difficult to convince. Yet, his good luck hadn't stopped there. Upon hearing of his mission to contact the other members of the Order, at least those who were still alive, Remus had immediately agreed to accompany him. This was both good and bad, as Sirius had not been able to travel as fast in his dog form, having to wait on the slower human to keep up with him. They could have traveled by Floo; however, as Remus was quick to point out, Sirius would have to travel in human form, and that would probably not be a wise course of action until all the explanations were made.  
  
And so, after a good night's rest, they had set out. Diagon Alley had been the first stop, where, aided by the Polyjuice, he had acquired his new wand. Arabella Figg had been the first person to contact. While not a fully qualified witch, it was Figg's job to keep an eye on the wards surrounding Privet Drive and to be ready to sound the alarm at a moment's notice in case of trouble. Figg, too, had been relatively easy to convince. Perhaps the fact that he and Remus had once saved her life might have had something to do with that.  
  
He had wanted to visit Harry while at Figg's, but Remus had absolutely forbidden it. Remus had pointed out in no uncertain terms that even though Harry would be happy to see him, the Dursleys would not and would probably be able to make all sorts of undesirable attention be drawn to the fact that he, Sirius Black, had been spotted at Privet Drive, bringing down trouble not only on himself, but probably Harry as well, as the boy was already generally mistrusted by the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge. Finally, reluctantly, he had agreed, and they had taken their leave of Arabella.  
  
The others had not been so easy, with the sole exceptions of Arthur and Molly Weasley. Both of them had known of Sirius's innocence since Molly had seen him in the infirmary at the end of the tragic Triwizard Tournament. Their old school mate, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had merely nodded in a thoughtful way, after Remus released him from the Body Bind they'd had to use on him when he had gone for his wand at the sight of Sirius, and said in his baritone growl, "guess I'll need to send some lads to Canada to follow up on that Sirius Black sighting after all". Sirius was more than pleased to learn that Shacklebolt was tasked with his recapture, which meant the formidable black man would be able to devote more of his time to the Order while leading the aurors on wild chases.  
  
Sirius's favorite reaction, though, came from old scruffy Mundungus Fletcher. That worthy gentleman had stood there at the sight of the fugitive tapping his foot impatiently while the two men explained Black's innocence. When they had finished, he had simply stood there blinking owlishly for a moment before reaching for a fresh bottle of Ogden's best. He had taken a long swig from the bottle, not his first of the day, before bending over slightly, farting in a long drawn-out trumpet blast, and muttering loudly "z'all well an' good, but where'd the l'lle doggy go?" Once out of the dubious presence of Fletcher, both men had laughed themselves to hysterical tears.  
  
The rest had gone by in a timeless blur for the Animagus, until finally the nervous and slightly high-strung Dedalus Diggle was convinced of Black's innocence. Only then did he bid Remus goodbye and head back to Hogwarts.  
  
It was time to talk to Albus about getting Harry out of the viper's den for the rest of the summer. It had taken all of his will power, and some he had borrowed from Moony, to keep from going by the Dursleys to visit Harry while stopping at Figg's. Now, though, his current mission was completed, and it was time to think of Harry.  
  
Muttering the password now to the headmaster's office he waited until the gargoyle slid aside and then bounded quickly up the moving stairs and burst through the door of the office.  
  
He barely had time to register the fact that there was no headmaster sitting behind the beautiful oak desk before he was assaulted by a white blur, hooting anxiously and pecking at his hand in impatience. Recognizing the bird, Black felt a slight tinge of unease wash over him as he tried to calm the Snowy Owl while removing the letter which Hedwig was insistently thrusting toward him. It was but the work of a second to tear open the envelope and to recognize the thin spidery handwriting that was Harry's trademark.  
  
Dear Professor Dumbledore:  
  
I have reason to believe that Hermione Granger's house will be attacked by Death Eaters in the near future. I have had a vision of such an attack happening at night, and I can not afford to think that what I have seen has already happened. Please send help to her location as soon as you can. I am going myself, and I will do whatever I must to get there, Ministry of Magic or no.  
  
Please help,  
  
Harry  
  
Sirius Black spoke fluent Spanish and German as well as his native English. However, his knowledge of swear words expanded to also include French, Chinese, Russian, and Arabic. It therefore took almost two minutes for him to shout out every one he knew. Once his outrage and frustration had worn off, he immediately moved to act on his information.  
  
Dashing over to the lit fireplace (the one in the headmaster's office was always lit in case of emergencies) and snatched a handful of Floo Powder.  
  
"Albus Dumbledore," the man roared once the fire had turned green.  
  
The wait was only seconds, but Sirius could feel each one as a near physical blow. Finally, the wrinkled face of the Hogwarts headmaster appeared in the flames.  
  
"Sirius, what--" Dumbledore began, taking in Black's surroundings and widening his eyes slightly.  
  
"Harry has left Privet Drive, sir." Black's voice nearly oozed with impatience.  
  
The little twinkle remaining in Dumbledore's eyes vanished completely.  
  
"Stand back, Sirius, I'm coming through."  
  
It only took a second for the headmaster's whirling form to return to his office. However, seconds later, another figure followed him. This man was tall, slightly balding, and with the look of a man who had been getting very little sleep.  
  
"Albus, Arthur," Black continued impatiently, offering Weasley a hand up even as he spoke. "I just arrived here and was bombarded by Hedwig. She brought me this letter."  
  
He showed the two men the hastily scribbled note from Harry, and paced impatiently as they read it.  
  
"My God," Arthur Weasley mumbled softly under his breath, wringing his hands in a state of near panic. "We have no idea how long ago this letter was written."  
  
Sirius opened his mouth to reply, but Dumbledore beat him to it. "Follow me."  
  
His voice contained a power very rarely displayed by the old man. Gathering another pinch of powder from the urn on the hearth, Dumbledore through it in to the fire, immediately calling out "Figg Fortress".  
  
No sooner did Dumbledore's tall thin form vanish, then Black moved to follow, wondering if the old man had lost another marble or two.  
  
__________  
  
The three men stood stunned outside Arabella Figg's house. For a moment, one moment of utter horror and denial, gazing fixedly at the smoke that was wafting from the general direction of Privet Drive.  
  
Sirius moved first. Uncaring of whether or not he was recognized, he tore off in a panicked frenzy toward the smoke. Dumbledore and Weasley stood still for another moment before tearing after their impulsive companion.  
  
It was worse than they could imagine.  
  
Number four, Privet Drive, was a total loss. Flames had already laid bare the outer walls, and nothing that the numerous firefighters and other volunteers could do seemed to affect the flames in the least. The only bit of good news was that the fire, although fierce, was not spreading to the neighboring houses. In the back of his mind, Arthur Weasley was deeply grateful for a nearly windless night.  
  
There seemed to be only one casualty. The local police were bending over a small prone figure in front of the burning abode. Stepping carefully after his companions, Arthur was able to use his height advantage to peer over the heads of other curious onlookers. What he saw made the last shreds of hope dessert him completely.  
  
The body was that of the Squib, Arabella Figg, employed by Dumbledore to watch over Harry Potter.  
  
It was enough. Arthur did not need the aged headmaster to tell him that it was more than likely that the wards had failed or been destroyed. A great wave of guilt slammed in to him as he turned his face away from the lifeless body of Arabella Figg. Why had they not been more insistent that Harry come to the Burrow? After all, there were qualified wizards there who could have protected the boy. Bill and Charlie had both taken a liking to the boy the previous summer when they had met him before the Quidditch World Cup. Either one of them would have been more than happy to apparate home to help with Potter's protection if it had been needed. Percy, while not as athletic or use to dueling as his older brothers, would also have been able to help. Instead, they had let him return to his aunt and uncle, both Muggles, both despising the boy greatly.  
  
This last thought made him turn around quickly, peering at the driveway of the burning house. Frowning, his anxiety growing even more, he realized the absence of a Muggle automobile.  
  
Where were the Dursleys?  
  
And then, like a clap of thunder, the contents of Harry's letter struck him.  
  
"Albus, Sirius," Arthur called over the noise of the crackling flame and hoarse shouts of the firemen, "the Grangers."  
  
Cursing softly under his breath, something neither of his companions had ever heard, Dumbledore motioned the other two to follow him.  
  
Moving quickly back the way they had come, they only waited long enough to be out of the sight of any staring Muggles. With hasty instructions and placing a hand on Sirius's shoulder, Dumbledore and the other man disappeared with a quiet pop, shortly followed by Weasley.  
  
The scene at the Grangers' home was, if possible, even worse. The flames there burned unchecked, with no personnel or neighbors yet arrived. Having apparated so close to the home, the three men had to duck quickly as flying debris continued landing all around them. Seeing no one else around, Dumbledore drew his wand, gave it a curt wave, and a wall of water suddenly seemed to engulf the burning building, snuffing the flames immediately.  
  
Sparing hardly a glance at the results of his spell, the headmaster immediately moved toward the still smoldering pile of debris that had been the Grangers' living room.  
  
It was a steaming wreck. At some point, it appeared the upper floor had given way, adding its contents to the already merrily blazing conflagration. Only one item seemed to have survived the damage. It was a trunk baring the Hogwarts coat of arms.  
  
"Better take it with us," Sirius growled, followed by a bitter smirk. "Hermione would kill us if we didn't. Of course, she'd need to be alive first."  
  
Seeing tears slowly start to roll down the man's face, Arthur was only slightly surprised to find his own eyes moist.  
  
"Only one thing is missing here, just like at the Dursleys," Dumbledore stated in a voice that shook only a little. "The Grangers' vehicle does not appear to be here. There is still hope."  
  
He turned to the two other men and laid a gnarled hand on each shoulder.  
  
"Arthur, we must assume that if these two families were attacked, yours must follow shortly. We need to relocate them before that happens. I will get to work on a place right away."  
  
"I have an idea, sir," Sirius joined the conversation. "I was going to use it as an idea for headquarters of the Order, and while I still think it a good idea, I believe there will be plenty of room for the Weasleys."  
  
"Where is this place, Sirius?"  
  
__________  
  
"CRUCIO!"  
  
This time it was Lucius Malfoy who writhed under the devastating effects of the pain curse.  
  
"You had five men with you, Malfoy," Voldemort hissed in fury after finally lifting the curse. "Explain to me how two Muggles and one underage Mudblood witch were able to defeat you, causing the death of two of your men in the process."  
  
"Master," Malfoy gasped in agony, somehow finding the strength of will to pull himself in to a kneeling position. "P-Potter was there."  
  
The snake-like face of the Dark Lord was suddenly half an inch from his own, causing Malfoy to unconsciously jerk backward.  
  
"Potter did this,?" The question was asked in a deadly calm voice.  
  
"Y-yes, Master. I'm not even sure how."  
  
"Explain," it was a command.  
  
"Potter somehow blocked a killing curse that had been aimed at the Mudblood and her father using a gold light, the like of which I've never seen. He somehow decapitated Clemens, and was able to reflect the blast of the Killing Curse away from Granger, causing a fire which roasted Dalton.when it was reflected at him."  
  
No more words were spoken at that time. Instead, terrible screams of rage, hate, and, loudest of all, pain filled the cave of Lord Voldemort as the Dark Lord's followers felt his frustration and fury at the failed night's events.  
  
Mercifully, with the last Death Eater having fainted from the Cruciatus, silence returned. It was a silence of thought. A silence of brooding. A silence of cold calculation.  
  
TBC 


	9. Chapter 9

A.n Thanks for the excellent reviews. I am afraid you have Stephen King to blame for the long delay this time. The release of his new Dark Tower book has kept me quite busy. If you are a Stephen King fan, I highly suggest this series. At any rate, a great many thanks to all who have reviewed. Look for a review from Yours Truly shortly, individualizing thanks and answering questions from specific reviewers.  
  
__________  
  
Chapter 9  
  
During the day, the city streets of London were a nightmare to travel. Cars forced their way from place to place, the anxious drivers behind the wheel cursing under their breaths as they fought to make their various appointments and/or deliveries. Amidst all of the auto traffic, buses with anxious residents and tourists struggled to make their way to their appointed stops to deposit the patrons to their respective work areas or to some odd museum or other popular tourist spot.  
  
Even at night, London's various attractions lured the city's inhabitants out in droves, whether to attend a theatre function, to grab a drink at the pub down the street, or to while away the hours in a smoky and noise-filled night club, gradually or quickly losing their sobriety as pint after pint of ale or some other equally enticing alcoholic beverage was consumed.  
  
Through the hustle and bustle of one balmy night at the beginning of August, a sleek silver Mercedes toiled its way in to the city. The occupants of the car were four in number. A man, brown hair framing a face from which two equally brown eyes shown forth was behind the wheel. A woman with somewhat bushy reddish-brown hair and bright blue eyes was seated next to him, wincing from time to time as the car hit some pothole or other obstacle in the road.  
  
In the back seat of the car were two young teenagers. One, with somewhat frizzy brown hair and deep brown eyes, could be mistaken for nothing less than the daughter of the two in the front. Her companion, however, was obviously no relation. He had messy jet-black hair, intense green eyes, and a funny scar just below his hairline.  
  
The two in the back had been sleeping for a while, but when the rumble of engines and angry bleeps from horns that made up the streets of London began to be heard, sleep decided it was time to move elsewhere.  
  
"Well, we're here," the man behind the wheel said curtly, taking but a second to glance over his shoulder to send a glare at the boy before whipping his head forward again to concentrate on his driving.  
  
"Yes, it appears so," Harry Potter replied in an eerily calm voice.  
  
He said no more.  
  
"Well," the older man snapped after a minute had passed with no other comments from the rear of the vehicle.  
  
"We head to the Leaky Cauldron, of course. It is vital that we contact Professor Dumbledore or the Weasleys. We have to tell them what has happened."  
  
"Only one problem, Harry," Hermione Granger cut in before her father could get truly irate. "We have always had an enchanted parchment to guide us to where the Leaky Cauldron is, so none of us really has an idea where to go."  
  
Harry was briefly surprised. Having never come by Muggle car, he had never really considered the possibility that the wizarding pub would have to be shown to any Muggles. He had always assumed that once a Muggle-born student was accepted at Hogwarts, the parents of the child would be able to see the pub once provided with directions to it. Apparently, this was not the case. Harry himself had traveled with Hagrid to the pub on foot from the railway station before his first year. He had first experienced the unpleasantness of Floo powder during the second. The Night Bus had been little better, he had learned quite painfully his third year. And, he realized with a start, he had not visited the Leaky Cauldron or Diagon Alley the previous year. Instead, Mrs. Weasley had picked up all of their school supplies while Mr. Weasley had taken the rest of the family along with Harry and Hermione to the Quidditch World Cup. And what a disaster that had turned out to be..  
  
Yet, he thought he would be able to get his charges to the appropriate location. Thus, after mulling it over a few moments, he leaned forward and told Mr. Granger so.  
  
He was wrong.  
  
__________  
  
The house was old.  
  
Actually, the house was more than old.  
  
The house was ancient.  
  
To Sirius, coming home was not a joyous occasion. It was not even remotely happy. As he keyed the door open, he was dimly irritated that Dumbledore had not thrown the key away or lost it after Sirius had given it in to his keeping. Before the whole nasty Secret Keeper business, that had been. Back when the Marauders were young and full of life, back before the idea of a traitor in their midst had even remotely been considered.  
  
Sirius had just been notified of his mother's death and of his now being the owner of the Black manner. It was also, consequently, the last thing in the world he wanted. He had left the house with nothing but unpleasant memories of the place and of its occupants. The Potter Manor in Godric's Hollow was the only place he had ever considered a home, and Sirius doubted very much if that would change now that he owned the ancestral home of his family.  
  
With these thoughts, he had immediately sent the key to Dumbledore for safe keeping, saying that perhaps one day he would be able to enter the house again without so much bitterness. He would have given the key to one of the other Marauders, Moony perhaps, but a feeling he could not explain had pushed him to leave it with the old man instead.  
  
Now, all these years later, Sirius was apprehensive as he led the way in to the home of his family for generations uncounted.  
  
All of this went through his mind in a blink. The next second, he was coughing violently. The dust that arose beneath their feet as they filed in to the old foyer was thicker than he would have believed possible. The dark curtains that hung on the walls seemed to be choking in dust. The stuff continued to puff up beneath their feet as they moved further in to the house.  
  
Sirius opened his mouth to make some snappy remark about the conditions of the place, but he never got the words out. Instead, he fell silent as a voice was heard muttering and drawing closer quickly.  
  
"Visitors to our house, eh? Who could it be, Kreacher wonders? Yes, Kreacher wonders very much. The mistress will not be pleased that they have entered her house. Kreacher will send the slimy piles of gnome dung on their way. Yes, Mistress, he will."  
  
And then, shambling in to view, came the owner of the voice. He was short, maybe two feet in height, wearing what appeared to be the world's oldest pair of Muggle underwear, and nothing else. The laughter at the sight died on Sirius's lips as he saw the expression on the house elf's face. It was anything but pleasant.  
  
"Kreacher, I had no idea you were still here," Sirius greeted the elf cordially enough.  
  
"Master Black, you have returned! Returned to poor Kreacher at last!"  
  
Upon recognition of the master of the house, Kreacher's whole countenance underwent an amazing and complete transformation. The scowl that had dominated his features was replaced by a wide, sunny smile, and the anger that had seconds before filled the elf's watery eyes was replaced by a gleam that Sirius found he cared for not in the least. And, as he looked closer, he found that the smile on Kreacher's face did not reach his eyes. In fact, it looked rather forced.  
  
"How I have missed you, Master Black," the elf continued, bowing so low that Sirius thought he might overbalance and do a nose dive right in to the dust. And speaking of dust ...  
  
"Kreacher, if you have been here all this time, why is the place so dusty," he demanded rather more sharply than he had intended.  
  
"My mistress has not ordered me to clean the place, Master," the house elf explained in a tone he clearly meant to be respectful and instead came out sounding more like contempt.  
  
Sirius opened his mouth to tell the old elf that his mistress was dead and therefore could not give him any more orders. But he never uttered the words. Kreacher had continued speaking, but this time it was in a low, muttering voice, speaking as if he perhaps thought the people standing directly in front of him could not hear him.  
  
"Great, the blood traitor has finally returned and expects Kreacher to stoop so low as to work for the murdering villain. Ah, Mistress, at least you can give me orders to override those of the fool and his foolish friends."  
  
And that was all it took to snap the thin veil of control Sirius was somehow managing to hold on to. What with his worry over Harry and Hermione, his constant flight from Ministry wizards and others in the magical world who believed him a murderer, having to return to the place he considered another form of hell, and now this old and wretched house elf speaking so horribly about him and his friends, it was little wonder that his fury burst.  
  
"STAND UP, ELF," he roared. "ANY MORE TALK LIKE THAT AND I'LL D---"  
  
But what exactly Black would have done to the pitiful creature in front of him was drowned out by another voice.  
  
Black, Lupin, Dumbledore, and Weasley had been standing next to a curtained off alcove that was situated next to the entrance of the vast living room. Now, as Black's thunderous voice rang out, the curtains parted as if by an invisible hand. Behind them was not an alcove, but a portrait. It was the portrait of an older woman, the look of dignity on her face only being surpassed by the glare she cast around the room.  
  
"FILTHY TRAITOR SON OF MINE COME HOME AT LAST," the portrait of Miranda Black, Sirius's mother, shrieked at the top of her quite expansive lungs. "HOW DARE YOU BRING OTHER FILTH LIKE YOU IN TO THIS MOST NOBLE HOUSE? NEXT THING, YOU'LL INVITE IN WEREWOLVES AND MUDBLOODS AND OTHER SUCH FILTH!"  
  
Undoubtedly, she would have continued in her charming speech had not Dumbledore intervened. Sirius moved to clap his hands over his ears to shut out the hated voice, but before he had succeeded, Dumbledore waved his wand, muttered a word, and the curtains were swept back together with stupendous force. The scowling shrieking portrait managed a surprised "eeepe" before the curtains slammed closed, and the darkness forced it back in to morose and brooding silence.  
  
"Sirius," Remus started uncertainly.  
  
Sirius ignored him and swept back the way he had come, heart hammering in his chest.  
  
Stepping out through the front door, he thought that fresh air had never smelled so good. Even after escaping Azkaban with its hideous guardians he had never felt so alone, so completely and utterly deserted. Sure, he had Remus for company, but the fact that the werewolf had once believed him a traitor was a fact that Sirius did not know if he could ever completely overcome. The same thing applied for Dumbledore. As for Arthur Weasley, Sirius had only met the man once or twice before this summer, and while he liked him well enough, he would never be what Sirius could consider a really close compatriot.  
  
Coming back here had been a mistake, he now realized. Sure, perhaps the Order could have some use for the place. He sure hoped so at any rate. However, this was not the place for him. There were too many bad memories, too many ghosts from his past still roaming its ancient halls, and too many screaming portraits and hateful house elves that were more than happy to remind him of his hated life in these walls.  
  
He stood there listlessly for perhaps twenty minutes, listening to the sounds of loud music and yelling coming from some raucous party near by, watching the occasional car as it sped quickly past him and vanished in to the night, headed for who knew where. Finally, gritting his teeth in frustration, he forced himself to turn around and return up the short walk to number twelve, Grimmauld Place.  
  
__________  
  
It was no good. He was lost. They had been driving for nearly an hour through the less reputable parts of London, searching for Charing Cross Road. Mr. Granger had wanted to stop several times and get a map, but Harry had managed to convince him so far that stopping would not be a good plan. After all, he had pointed out, they had no idea if they were being followed or not. However, he did not think that these stalling tactics would work for much longer. Listening to Hermione muttering under her breath was not helping either. Nor was the fact that Mrs. Granger was beginning to groan with pain from the after effects of the Cruciatus Curse. They would need to reach their destination soon so that she could be treated.  
  
"Try the next street on the left," Harry said, sensing Mr. Granger opening his mouth to begin another tirade. "And, if we still see no sign of the Leaky Cauldron, we'll stop and check a map."  
  
Grumbling quietly under his breath, Scott Granger did as he was asked. The road they turned on to was one of the narrowest and dirtiest that Harry had seen so far in London. The houses appeared to be gripped by a massive hand that was slowly crushing them together. Beer cans and other bits of garbage lined the gutters giving the lane an unsettling forsaken look. This was definitely not Charing Cross Road, and there was no bar called The Leaky Cauldron anywhere in sight.  
  
Harry opened his mouth to suggest they turn around and find a public telephone or a gas station, but the words died on his lips ere they were ever uttered.  
  
His shout of surprise and joy was so startling to the other occupants of the car that Hermione jerked fully awake, Mrs. Granger snapped her head around to look at Harry in spite of her pain, and Mr. Granger's foot came down on the brakes so forcefully that the car skidded and slammed nose first in to the curb with enough force to rattle Harry's teeth in their sockets. Yet he took no notice of this.  
  
He wrenched the side door open before the engine died, and as he saw the object of his happiness begin to close the door behind him, he gave another cry.  
  
The man turned around, mouth agape, eyes widening with incredulity, before the force of the fifteen-year-old boy slammed in to him, propelling him back in to the front door of the house hard enough to cause the door to fly open and hit the wall with a resounding boom! He started to fall, but Harry caught him with a surprisingly strong grip and steadied him.  
  
"Sirius," Harry managed at last through an extremely dry throat. "Padfoot! What are you doing here?"  
  
TBC 


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter 10  
  
For a moment longer, Sirius stood in the doorway, one hand clutching Harry's shoulder for support simply staring in amazement at his godson. It was not until this moment seeing Harry alive and in the flesh that he realized how much he had truly doubted that he would ever see the boy alive again. It was with this thought in mind that he released Harry's shoulder and pulled him in to a bone-cracking embrace.  
  
"We were so worried when we got your note," He stated quietly. "Once we saw your house and that of the Grangers, we could only assume the worst."  
  
"Gerroff, gerroff Padfoot," Harry's voice stated, muffled as his face was pressed tightly to Sirius's chest.  
  
Sirius loosened his hold but did not let go completely. He seemed to be afraid that if he let go of Harry, the boy would simply melt in to mist.  
  
"What do you mean when you say "saw your house"? What happened? The house was fine when I left in the afternoon."  
  
Sirius clenched his jaw at the thought of just how closely Harry had avoided falling in to the clutches of the Death Eaters and their terrible master.  
  
"Oh, its you, is it?"  
  
The somewhat grumpy voice brought Sirius's gaze from Harry's face to glance at the three people who were standing on the stoop just behind Harry. With yet another surge of relief, he was greeted with the sight of Hermione Granger and her parents, alive and well. It was Scott Granger who had spoken, and Sirius nodded at him briefly before remembering that they had obviously had a long day.  
  
Keeping one arm around his godson, he motioned for everyone to enter the house after him.  
  
Once the door had closed and the dark musty aroma of the house reached their nostrils, Sirius told them quietly to follow him with as little noise as possible. He raised his wand and began to lead the way back along the path he had so recently traversed.  
  
He was grateful to see that the curtains concealing the oh-so-pleasant portrait of his mother were still closed, and he hastened to lead the small party past it and in to the spacious living room. From there, he was able to make out the very faint glow of the light from the end of a wand issuing from the door to the basement which stood ajar. Again, he nodded to his guests and led the way down the narrow stone steps, emerging finally in to a somewhat spacious room with an assortment of tables and chairs lining the wall, and an old cook stove tucked carelessly in to one corner. Dumbledore, Lupin, and Mr. Weasley were inspecting the room when the rest of the group trudged in.  
  
"Ah, Mr. Potter! Ms. Granger! Mr. and Mrs. Granger! How absolutely wonderful to see you all alive and unharmed," Dumbledore greeted them, beaming wider than ever.  
  
"Actually, Mum got hit with Cruciatus," Hermione told her headmaster in a concerned voice.  
  
Some of the twinkle left Dumbledore's eyes and he strode forward laying a gnarled hand on Mrs. Granger's shoulder.  
  
"Perhaps you would care to sit down, Mrs. Granger," he invited, conjuring a leather recliner for her which she gratefully accepted.  
  
"Actually, Albus, it might be a better idea for her to lie down until we can get Madam Pomfrey to come look at her or can get Severus to brew a post-Cruciatus potion to help her," Lupin said.  
  
After a quick consultation, Lupin levitated Mrs. Granger out of the kitchen upstairs to one of the bedrooms with Mr. Granger following behind.  
  
The rest seated themselves in some of the hard-backed chairs that were in abundance in the kitchen to wait for Lupin's return. It took about ten minutes.  
  
"Ah, Remus. Everyone is comfortable I assume," Dumbledore asked.  
  
"Yes, Albus. I did a few cleaning spells on one of the bedrooms and made them as comfortable as I could. I also happened to run across Kreacher on my way back down here and made it clear to him that he was to stay away from that room."  
  
Sirius grunted his approval. Finally, Dumbledore leaned forward and examined Harry carefully through his glasses.  
  
"I assume by now, Harry, you know that your relatives' home was also attacked. It appears to have been shortly after you left to go to Ms. Granger's home. Unfortunately, Mrs. Arabella Figg was killed as she went to see why the wards were breaking down. She will be sorely missed."  
  
Dumbledore bowed his head for a moment, but Harry had stopped listening, flabbergasted in spite of himself to learn that his batty old neighbor had been a which. After all, he knew of no other Mrs. Figg.  
  
"I am sorry, Professor," Harry mumbled, knowing that another person had died for him, in spite of all he could do. He pushed the guilt to the back of his mind for now. There would be time for that later.  
  
"The Dursleys went to visit Aunt Marge," he told Dumbledore, "didn't want me to go with them, not after what happened last time she and I met." This comment drew a short chuckle from Sirius.  
  
"Yes, Harry, but that was inexcusable. They should never have left you alone for that length of time in that house. Your aunt was informed on the day they took you in that any lengthy absence without taking you with them would cause the wards to decay. That was for their own protection as well as yours. But, it is too late to worry about that now.  
  
"Harry," the headmaster continued after a moment. "I am most interested to learn how you were able to defeat the Death Eaters at the Grangers' home. But first," he continued, eyes lighting on the cylinder attached to the boy's belt, "what, pray tell, is that?"  
  
Instead of answering, Harry stood up, moved to a clear spot in the room, drew the lightsaber, and ignited the brilliant golden blade. Gasps were heard by all, even though the Grangers had caught a brief glimpse of the weapon earlier and had seen it deflect a Killing Curse.  
  
Hermione was the first to recover from her shock.  
  
"Harry, that's a lightsaber like from Star Wars," she said, awe apparent in her voice.  
  
Harry nodded in agreement.  
  
"Harry," Dumbledore said in a slow voice, as if measuring every word carefully. "I need you to tell me everything from the beginning. It is vital to know how you came in to the possession of such a ... a unique weapon. And also, as I appear to have missed this Star Wars, perhaps you can fill me in on that as well."  
  
Harry deactivated the blade and attached the handle to his belt once more. Sitting back down, he related a slightly modified version of the events leading up to his rescue of the Grangers. He did not, for instance, mention that he had an instructor who came every night to teach him, an instructor who was from what most people assumed was a legendary story in Star Wars. Instead, he led his captivated audience to believe that he had suddenly been hit with the knowledge of how to use these powers and how to build a lightsaber. If he had been asked, Harry would not have been able to explain why he did this. There was no reason, after all, to protect the knowledge that Kenobi was teaching him.  
  
No one noticed the short shadow that crept in to the entrance of the kitchen and began listening part way through the narrative. Not even Harry's senses warned him of this particular danger, having been lulled in to security as he was reunited with the rest of his pseudo-family. It went unnoticed when Kreacher snapped his fingers and vanished, only to appear seconds later in the sitting room of one Narcissa Black-Malfoy.  
  
"Harry," Dumbledore said once Harry had completed his story. "While I do not doubt any of what you have told me, I must insist on taking your saber in for inspection for any jinxes or curses."  
  
"But sir," Harry said, mouth agape and staring at the headmaster as if he had grown horns. "I told you how I made the weapon. Surely you don't possibly think---"  
  
"I must be sure, Harry. With Voldemort back, one can not be too cautious with such unique items." Dumbledore took out his wand, waved it, and the lightsaber detached itself from Harry's belt and floated in to Dumbledore's outstretched hand. Harry knew he could summon it back, but what was the point? The old man would simply summon it again, and the check for jinxes would be delayed even longer than it otherwise would. Besides, the stern set of Dumbledore's jaw told Harry that any argument would be shot down immediately. He looked from Dumbledore, to Sirius, to Lupin, and finally to Mr. Weasley looking for some verbal support. However, the grim expressions on the faces of the men assured Harry that he would be getting no help from them.  
  
"Sir," he pleaded with Dumbledore, "please don't take it apart. IF any of the components are damaged, I won't be able to replace them."  
  
Dumbledore only looked at him. Sighing, Harry dropped his arms to his sides in defeat. As he did so, his hand bumped something hard in his pocket. Pulling it out, he finally smiled. Here, after all, was something to be happy about.  
  
"Lucius Malfoy's wand," Harry said, drawing the stick of wood from his pocket. He held out his hand, and again the old man summoned it to him.  
  
"Excellent work, Harry. We should be able to see the last curse that Lucius performed with it. What is it, Mr. Weasley?"  
  
Arthur Weasley had suddenly sprung to his feet, a look of terror on his face.  
  
"If Harry and Hermione were attacked, it stands to reason that The Burrow will be attacked too, as Ron is one of Harry's best friends!"  
  
Harry sprang to follow him, heart hammering in his chest, ignoring Sirius's voice which told him to stay where he was and let the older men handle things. How could he have forgotten Ron? Ignoring his previous resolve, Harry stuck out his hand and the lightsaber shot from Dumbledore's belt in to his palm. As he felt the comfortable weight of the weapon clutched in his hand, he decided that the saber would be staying with him from now on. Dumbledore would just have to trust him that the weapon was safe. There was no way he or any other member of his staff would be taking it apart. Certainly, Harry would never place his beloved weapon in a position where one Severus Snape might get his extremely greasy hands on it.  
  
Nothing else mattered as he scrambled to follow after Mr. Weasley, who had scrambled to the fireplace, lighting a fire as he went.  
  
"Harry," came Hermione's concerned voice as he reached for the pot of Floo powder, "Mr. Weasley and Professor Dumbledore can handle things. You need to stay where it is safe."  
  
Harry didn't reply, feeling awful for making her worry. Yet, he knew he had to go. Ron would do the same for him or Hermione, after all.  
  
"Harry, no!" This time, it was Lupin who shouted. However, Harry had already grabbed a handful of Floo powder and disappeared within the green flames before the echo of Lupin's shout had died away.  
  
"Stay here, the both of you," Dumbledore said in his sternest voice.  
  
Concentrating, the headmaster disappeared with a pop, leaving the remaining occupants of twelve, Grimmauld Place, to wring their hands in worry and dismay, waiting for the others to return.  
  
TBC 


	11. Chapter Eleven

A.N. Thanks to all for your patience. Getting a new computer didn't help, and then massive writer's block struck! Thanks to Shawn Pickett for inspiring me at exactly the right time and for giving me the will to write this new chapter.  
  
Chapter Eleven  
  
The trip through the Floo network seemed to take forever to Harry. All thoughts of training were temporarily forgotten in his concern for his best friend and his best friend's family. He was uncertain what he would do if he arrived to find devastation and prayed to whatever powers that were listening to find The Burrow in tact.  
  
And then, what seemed like a lifetime later, the spinning stopped and he was stepping out of the fireplace in The Burrow, automatically dusting off his clothes even as he let his eyes and other senses take in his surroundings.  
  
The relief of what he was seeing was so tangible that he felt his knees grow weak and he unceremoniously dropped to the floor, placing his head in his hands as he shook like a leaf with relief.  
  
Mr. Weasley had arrived shortly before Harry, and his fear had been even more palpable. Nevertheless, the balding man had managed to keep enough of his wits about him to bellow for his family upon his arrival. And thus it was that even as Harry came tumbling out of the fireplace shortly after Mr. Weasley, the pounding and thudding of many feet could be heard approaching the living room from upstairs, and it was only vaguely that Harry realized that it was extremely late and that the rest of the family must have been sleeping.  
  
He was snapped out of his momentary paralysis as a familiar voice called out sleepily, "Dad? Harry? What in Merlin's name is going on here?"  
  
The voice belonged to his best friend, Ron Weasley. The tall, gangling youth stood in the doorway to the living room rubbing his eyes as if refusing to believe what he was seeing.  
  
Slowly, a relieved smile spread over Harry's face upon seeing his friend clearly alive and unharmed. Climbing awkwardly to his feet, he forced as much joviality in to his voice as he could as he replied, "yup, its really me mate."  
  
Ron moved forward and opened his mouth clearly wanting to ask what was going on, but another voice beat him to it.  
  
"Arthur, what on earth---?" Mrs. Weasley pushed past her youngest son and ran over to her husband, hands outstretched.  
  
Yet again, an interruption came before any explanations could be given.  
  
"I am sorry to interrupt, Arthur, Molly, young Ronald," came Dumbledore's implacable voice. Harry realized he must have Apparated instead of using the Floo. "All conversations must wait. I must insist that you gather the rest of the family together along with any belongings you may need for the remainder of the summer and for Hogwarts and be back here in (he looked briefly at the wristwatch on his arm) twenty minutes. Use magic only if you must, but we must leave in no longer than twenty minutes."  
  
Gathering the rest of the family who still resided at home, as it turned out, proved to be unnecessary. Percy, Fred, George, and Ginny had all raced downstairs the moment they had heard their father calling. The sound of Dumbledore's grave yet commanding tones made even the jokester twins move to comply with his orders without question. And, to Harry's complete and utter amazement, with the assistance of Dumbledore and their parents, everyone was completely ready to go within the twenty minute time period Dumbledore had set. Harry, himself, had been appointed by Dumbledore to pace the bottom floor and keep guard for the possible arrival of any Death Eaters. Luck, for once, seemed to be with them as there was no sign of any forthcoming attack, and Harry idly wondered if the failure of the two previous missions of the evening had delayed the attack on The Burrow, and found himself fervently hoping so.  
  
Sooner than expected, the whole family was back and gathered by the fireplace. Dumbledore addressed them again as he paced slowly in front of them.  
  
"We'll start with the youngest first. Just use the Floo and state your destination as twelve, Grimmauld Place."  
  
To Harry's never ending surprise, they actually pulled it off without the interference of any Death Eaters. Perhaps he hadn't been wrong about his earlier assumption that the failed attacks earlier in the evening had put off the plans for an attack on The Burrow.  
  
As he once again staggered from the Floo and began brushing himself off, he was not prepared for the hand whistling out of the shadows and connecting solidly with the side of his face.  
  
"Harry James Potter! Don't you ever go rushing in to possible danger like that again! Of all the foolish things you have ever done, this one takes the cake! And here I was thinking that you possessed at least some common sense!"  
  
He turned to gape in surprise at the irate girl standing in front of him, bushy brown hair waving madly in all directions as she angrily tossed her head while staring him down. Part of him wanted to laugh as he, Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived, Jedi-to-be, hadn't sensed a thing. However, one look at her scowling features drove all thoughts of laughter from his mind.  
  
"Hermione, what are you doing here?"  
  
Harry grimaced internally again. He had been so focused on Hermione that he had forgotten that they had an audience. Ron was staring curiously between the two of them, and Harry, finally paying attention to his senses, was surprised at the confusing swirl of emotions radiating off of his best friend.  
  
"I think we would all like to know that," came the voice of Mrs. Weasley as she finished brushing the soot off of Ginny. The girl, for her part, was staring at Harry with a look of dog-like adoration he found all too familiar.  
  
"It is a long story, Molly," Dumbledore cut in quickly. "Please be seated, all of you, and we can tell the story."  
  
Once everyone had seated themselves around the large table, Dumbledore delighted them all by conjuring up butterbeers for each of them. Feeling the warm liquid making its way down his throat, Harry felt no qualms about letting the headmaster tell the story.  
  
As the headmaster progressed with his tale, Harry could not help but note the varying feelings of those in the room around him. Fred, George, and Mrs. Weasley seemed shocked with every new revelation Dumbledore made. Percy's face was set in a scowl of disapproval from the very beginning which only got worse as the story progressed, and Ginny continued to sit there and listen, a somewhat vacant expression on her face. Idly Harry wondered if the girl was always this foolish and spaced out or if it just happened when she was around him. He quickly began chastising himself for this very judgmental thought; after all, Ginny was Ron's little sister, and therefore, the closest thing to family he had.  
  
Ron's reaction was the most interesting. Harry had always known he had harbored some slight jealousy over Harry's seemingly, to Ron at least, constant stream of good fortune. This jealousy had reared its ugly head for the first time the previous year when Harry's name had been pulled out of the Goblet of Fire as a fourth participant in the Triwizard Tournament, which in itself had been bazaar as there were only supposed to be three contestants, one for each school. Ron had steadfastly refused to believe that Harry had not somehow tricked the Goblet in to letting him enter his name and somehow fooling the same Goblet in to accepting him in to the tournament. Eventually, Ron had apologized and Harry had accepted it, but he knew that Ron's jealousy would be likely to crop up again.  
  
And as he continued to sit back and listen to Dumbledore recount the story as Harry had told him, adding in his own bits where Harry had not been present, Harry sensed the flame of jealous indignation being fanned high inside Ron. Internally, he grimaced, knowing full well it was only a matter of time before Ron would no longer be able to contain himself and his jealousy would come springing forth like Jack from his box. Sure enough, as the headmaster finished his tale, it was less than five seconds before the expected explosion came.  
  
"So, once again, Perfect Powerful Protector Potter is there to save the day!"  
  
Mrs. Weasley let out a squeak of outrage at this outburst. Ginny blinked in obvious confusion. Hermione scowled furiously at Ron and was next to speak.  
  
"In case you haven't noticed, Ron, Harry saved my whole family from death, and probably a fate worse than death."  
  
"Oh yes, he is a bloody hero, after all," Ron shot back, jumping up and wheeling to face her, his hair rapidly being matched in its redness by his cheeks and ears.  
  
"Would you have rather she was dead, Ron, or perhaps worse," Harry asked mildly.  
  
And outwardly he looked calm enough. But inwardly, it was a different story. He had known Ron would be jealous about his role as a Jedi in training. However, he had not expected Ron to get so angry when he found out that Harry had been involved with saving Hermione and her parents. And the fact that he, Ron, was getting angry at her made absolutely no sense and started his blood boiling.  
  
"You know I'm very glad her and her parents are alive," Ron growled turning back to face Harry. "The fact that it was you that saved her is the thing that has me brassed off. It's always you who gets everyone's gratitude by being in the right place at the right time. I'm beginning to think that you somehow manage to set it up that way, pretending like you have no idea what is going on, just so you can show up in time to play the hero again."  
  
Through his growing anger, Harry was able to sense what was about to happen, but was a split second too late to act to stop it.  
  
SMACK!  
  
SMACK!  
  
Ron's head lolled from side to side like a puppet on loose strings as first Hermione then Mrs. Weasleys' hands made contact with his cheeks.  
  
"RONALD WEASLEY, YOU WILL APOLOGIZE TO HARRY AT ONCE!"  
  
The volume of Mrs. Weasley's shriek made the few dishes still in the kitchen rattle on their shelves, and Harry was amazed to hear an answering scream in return from somewhere else in the house.  
  
"FILTHY TRAITORS! PITIFUL RESULTS OF MUTATED SEED! VILE MUDBLOODS AND MUDBLOOD-LOVERS. HOW DARE YOU DEFILE THE MOST ANCIENT AND NOBLE HOUSE OF BLACK WITH YOUR OUTBURSTS?"  
  
Cursing, Sirius sprang up and hurried from the kitchen to silence the portrait of his mother that still hung in the entrance hall of the house.  
  
Mrs. Weasley, however, paid no attention to his departure, though she did lower her voice, speaking instead in a deadly whisper that carried even more venom than her shriek.  
  
"How dare you speak to your friend this way? Harry has done nothing but try and be a good friend to you, and to hear you talk like this shames not only yourself but our whole family. Have you forgotten that Harry saved Ginny's life when she was taken in to the Chamber of Secrets?"  
  
"Which you have to be a Parselmouth to enter, and how odd that Harry was a Parselmouth," Ron sneered.  
  
"You know very well that he had nothing to do with the fact that Ginny was taken down there or that You-Know-Who gave him the Parseltongue ability," Hermione spat with growing fury, her face so close to Ron's that little droplets of spittle landed on Ron's cheeks as she hissed each word in her fury.  
  
"Of course you are defending him," Ron shouted back. He was not intimidated by her proximity to his person at all, which he would have been if he had been thinking clearly. "Let's see. Now that Harry has saved your whole family, you'll be even more apt to defend him. Or maybe you have a different reward in mind. Maybe you plan on fucking him senseless to show your grati- - -"  
  
Fred, George, Percy, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley all made moves to silence Ron. Hermione's hand flew back to administer yet another blow to Ron's face. But none of them moved anywhere near fast enough.  
  
For Ron was not standing in front of Hermione anymore. Instead, he was up against the far wall of the kitchen, gasping for breath, an invisible arm seeming to be holding him up by the throat.  
  
And Harry was advancing on him.  
  
Harry's eyes silenced Ron more effectively than could any slap or verbal tirade from his mother. The green orbs seemed to sparkle with a barely contained fire, and a sensation like electricity seemed to pass through the kitchen, leaving not one person with hair that was unaffected. So terrified was Ron that he noted only with a slight amount of surprise that Harry was not walking, but gliding towards him, his feet not actually making contact with the ground.  
  
When Harry finally came to a stop, his face was so close to Ron's that he might have been about to give him a kiss. Instead, he spoke in a voice that was so low and soft that nobody but Ron should have been able to hear it. However, everyone in the kitchen managed to hear the barely uttered words.  
  
"Ron, you can insult me all you want. You can blame me for doing everything in my power to save people I care about if you want. I don't even care if you doubt my sincerity when I say that I only do what any decent person would do. But you will never insult Hermione again in my presence. She has been the truest friend anyone could ever want. She has stood by my side and believed in me when no one else did, and I do mean no one. She has always looked out for my best interests even if she knew that I would get angry at her, like that whole episode with the Firebolt."  
  
Harry's gaze bored in to Ron.  
  
"I've warned you, Ron. It is up to you if you have enough common sense to listen or not. Believe me when I tell you that this is your last warning"  
  
With that said, he forced his anger down and turned away, ignoring the thump that Ron made as he was released from his hold, landing unceremoniously on the floor.  
  
Hermione moved to stop him, but he gently pushed past her and strode out of the kitchen, passing Sirius on his way back in.  
  
He had some thinking to do. He didn't know why he had reacted so violently when Ron had made that horrible crack about Hermione. All he could remember was thinking that no one would ever talk bad about Hermione while Harry could prevent it. For some reason, it seemed to Harry that protecting her was the most important thing in the world for him.  
  
A loud, angry voice interrupted his dark thoughts, surprisingly not waking Mrs. Black's portrait. To Harry's no small amount of surprise, it was Ron's voice that was raised in anger. Harry had thought he would be somewhat subdued after their recent confrontation. Obviously he had been wrong. Also, it appeared that he had missed some vital points of the conversation that was taking place in the kitchen.  
  
"You know I have liked you throughout most of fourth year," Ron's voice rang out, shrill with anger and some other emotion that Harry, whose senses were somewhat overloaded by the emotions running rampant around him, was unable to determine. "Ever since the Quidditch World Cup. I thought that once you went with Vicky to the Yule Ball with him and saw my reaction, you would have realized this."  
  
"Firstly, Ronald," Hermione replied, her voice somewhat calmer than before yet still laced with an undertone of anger. "His name is Viktor. However, I'm sure you realize that because his name is actually in one of the Quidditch books you own, I'm sure."  
  
"You should try reading a Quidditch book," Ron began.  
  
"Secondly," Hermione continued as if he had not spoken at all. "If you liked me like you say you did ---"  
  
"Do," he corrected her instantly.  
  
"Then you should have told me instead of constantly acting like a three-year-old who just got his favorite toy taken away whenever I so much as speak to another guy."  
  
"It wouldn't have mattered," Ron blurted out, his voice rising, if possible, into an even more enraged and angry squeak. "You wouldn't have taken me seriously anyway!"  
  
"Perhaps if you took anything in life seriously other than flying around on a broomstick and seeing how many study sessions you could avoid, I might take you more seriously. There was even a time last year when I would have loved for you to ask me out. Now, though, seeing your behavior towards someone who has been your friend unfailingly for four years, I am glad that nothing happened between us."  
  
Although he could not see his face, Harry had finally been able to zero in on Ron's emotions. During Hermione's diatribe, his emotions had flickered from indignation, to shock and hope, and finally to a mix of blind fury and aching sadness.  
  
Unfortunately for Ron, as was usually the case, his hot-headed nature took over and was reflected in his next words.  
  
"Ah, yes! Now I understand. Now that famous Harry Potter has saved the lives of your family, you have decided that common people like me are no longer good enough for you to notice, and only famous Harry Potter could possibly ever have a place in your heart now. Well, guess what? It's not going to happen. You see, my sister Ginny has had her eye on him since she first met him, and you will not get in the way of her chances with him."  
  
"Thanks, Ron," Ginny piped up, sounding as though she had just woken up and did not have a clue as to what was going on. "At least someone in my family realizes who I am meant to be with."  
  
In the hall, Harry was seething. How dare these people presume to know what he was feeling and, more importantly, whom he was supposed to like. He was on the verge of storming back in to the kitchen and giving the combatants a piece of his mind when he felt a ghostly hand squeeze his shoulder. For just a split second, he felt Obi-Wan's presence on the edge of his senses, and the calm radiating from the Jedi master was sufficient enough to calm him down enough to stay where he was. A second later, he was glad he did so.  
  
"Ronald," Hermione said in a voice that said 'why do I have to spell everything out for you'? "Let me tell you a few facts that are going to hurt you a bit. I'm sorry to do this, but someone has to. First of all, Harry does not belong to Ginny. Harry does not belong to me. Harry belongs to himself and whom he chooses to be with is between him and whoever he chooses, even if it is Peeves the Poltergeist."  
  
Harry winced.  
  
"Secondly, you just accused me of liking Harry because he saved my life and the lives of my parents. I am grateful to him, more grateful than I can say. However, I have liked Harry before this. Just as I have liked you before this. We have all been the best of friends, and there has never been anything more than that on my part, save the crush I had on you early last year.  
  
"And finally, let me tell you the conclusions I have just come to. Let me tell you about the relationship between me and Harry. Harry has always been there for me. He does not laugh at my ideas and my study habits. He may try and get me to take breaks from time to time, but he realizes how important studying is to me. Also, he does not try and antagonize me at every statement I make.  
  
"And in the last few minutes, Ronald, I have realized something else. The reason you and I became friends is because of Harry. Can you honestly tell me that it was you who remembered that I didn't know about the troll in first year?"  
  
Ron apparently shook his head.  
  
"You see. It has been Harry who has kept us friends all these years. I do not honestly believe that you would have sought me out to become my friend on your own.  
  
"And finally, the thing that is probably going to hurt you. After knowing the two of you and finally seeing who you really are tonight, I realize that you and I could never work as a couple. I could never be satisfied by someone whose only interests in life consist of wondering how soon he will get to eat again, how many Chocolate Frogs he can eat at once, who performed the Wanky Feint in 1367, how much study time can he expect to be able to get out of each day, and how much he wishes he had the things in life his best friend does, never mind the fact that said friend lost his parents and any chance at a happy home life to get them.  
  
"Therefore, Ronald Billius Weasley, I, Hermione Granger, can tell you that until you feel the urge to grow up, my final words to you are PISS OFF!"  
  
This last was said with a cross between a scream and a sob. And with that, the kitchen door flew open again and Hermione ran from the room, facade cracking, tears coursing down her already tear-stained cheeks. Harry made a move to stop her as she ran blindly by him, but she pushed his hand off her shoulder and continued her stumbling run through the mysterious and foreboding Most Noble and Ancient House of Black.  
  
Dead silence remained behind her, those still remaining in the kitchen too shocked or angry to speak.  
  
And Harry, despite his rudimentary Jedi training, felt absolutely and completely helpless which only made him angry. Yet, even then, a small part of him felt a warm glow of happiness at how Hermione had defended him.  
  
Life sure was confusing sometimes.  
  
TBC 


	12. Chapter Twelve

A.N.: Thanks for the great reviews for the last chapter.

I want to respond to a review that I got asking how I could possibly think Ron and Hermione don't belong together. Well, if said reviewer will read Hermione's last outburst at Ron, what you are reading there is my true opinion. What I have stated there is truly how I see a Ron/Hermione relationship ending up. I truly do not believe that Hermione could ever be satisfied by someone so shallow and obviously jealous of those around him. Anyway, enough of my rantings and on we go.

Chapter Twelve

Harry stood where he was for a moment, torn between going after Hermione or going back in to the kitchen and giving Ronald Weasley another, and hopefully more effective, lesson in manners. It seemed, however, that Mrs. Weasley had the same idea in mind. Hardly had the door closed behind the distraught girl than Molly's shrill voice began ringing out, asking Ron what he was thinking of treating his best friends in the manner he had, and how he could possibly be jealous of what Harry had done when it had obviously saved lives.

She had just demanded that Ron go apologize to Harry and Hermione, voice rising louder with every couple of words, when the shriek came.

"FILTHY MUDBLOOD WHORE! HOW DARE YOU DEFILE THIS HOUSE WITH YOUR PRESENCE? I SUPPOSE BY NOW YOU'VE ALREADY SERVICED EVERY MALE IN THE HOUSE. AFTER ALL, THAT IS WHAT DIRTY FILTH IS GOOD FOR. DO IT ELSEWHERE, SOMEWHERE THAT DOES NOT INVOLVE MY NOBLE HOUSE, FOR YOU SHAME IT WITH YOUR -----"

CRACK!

Harry felt a shift in his surroundings and suddenly he was standing next to a wide-eyed Hermione, mouth opened in shock with tears streaming down her rapidly reddening cheeks. He did not know how he had come to be where he was, nor at the moment did he care. White, blazing rage was coursing through him, and this time there was no comforting touch of a Jedi to calm him down. Nevertheless, his words were quiet and calm, yet danger oozed from every word.

"Dear lady," he said smoothly. "I would like to ask you one question if I may."

"FILTHY HALF-BREED SCARRED SCUM. I WILL ANSWER NOTHING FR---"

"SILENCE!" The roar was so loud that it made Mrs. Black's screams seem like mild whisperings from a house across the block. Hermione grabbed on to Harry as the floor beneath them gave a lurch, and from somewhere down below them came the sound of something breaking. Harry was not aware of it. Nor was he aware of the frightened girl clinging on to his left arm, and only barely cognizant of the footfalls of several sets of feet as Sirius, Remus and Arthur Weasley came pounding up the stairs from the kitchen. All of his attention had been focused on the portrait of the old lady in front of him who had fallen silent in shock, staring at him with a mixture of hatred, disgust, and not a little fear.

"Now, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted," Harry continued in his previous mild voice. "I have a question to ask you, but whether you answer or not is inconsequential."

He gave the portrait a moment to consider his words, then continued.

"Any last words, Mrs. Black?"

The aristocratic features on the old witch gave way suddenly to a growing alarm. Fruitlessly, she tried to back away from the young wizard Jedi who unconsciously had been edging ever nearer to the curtained alcove, still unaware of a certain Hermione Granger clinging to his arm, being dragged forward with him.

"Y-you can't get rid of me, boy," Mrs. Black stated, though in a much quieter tone that left no doubt in anyone's mind that she was far from sure of what she had said. "Just because you have that lightning bolt on your forehead does not mean you have the ability to destroy me. I've been here since before you were born, boy, and I'll still be here when you are a broken, bleeding bag of bones at the Dark Lord's feet."

Harry ignored her completely, turning to the three men behind him who were standing transfixed by the confrontation taking place.

"Padfoot, do you want her to stay around?"

That was enough to jerk Sirius out of his stupor, and he shook his head once, firmly.

"Very well," Harry said, and turned back to the portrait, whose voice was beginning to rise as Mrs. Black continued to ramble about what the Dark Lord would do to the scarred freak once Harry was in his clutches.

"Well, dear lady," Harry said, and this time his voice was as cold as a winter snowstorm, though a pale green fire seemed to blaze in his eyes. The look was enough to shut Mrs. Black up for the second time.

"I am going to tell you what I told someone earlier. I don't care what you say about me. I don't care if you think I am the scum of the earth. I don't even care that you happen to believe Voldemort will ... Hmmm, what was it that you said? Ah, yes! I don't care if you believe that Voldemort will "keep my balls for use in a couple of Quidditch matches and enchant them to fly around as Snitches", though actually Quaffles would be more appropriate."

Sirius let out a bark-like laugh from behind him. A thin smile broke out on Harry's face, but it was short lived. When he next spoke, the slight joking quality had left his voice.

"But for what you said to Hermione and the way that you have treated the most decent member of your House that I am sure your family has ever spawned, I have decided that you are going to have to go away. Permanently!"

Mrs. Black made no sound to this. Mrs. Black had no chance to make a sound. A brilliant golden glow lit the room; there was a sound like ripping tape, a loud, ringing scream of agony, and a dull thud as the portrait of Mrs. Black hit the ground in two smoking pieces.

For a moment, silence reigned, all the onlookers being too stupefied to speak. Then, there was a sniff was heard issuing from the throat of one Sirius Black.

"Harry, me lad," the man said in a choked voice. "With your actions today, you have seen to the happiness of one Mr. Padfoot, marauder extraordenaire! Also, through Mr. Padfoot's own happiness, you will also hopefully contribute to the happiness of one Mr. Moony."

He finally looked up at Harry, a maniacal grin now prominent on his face. He then turned to Remus, and the two men exchanged a look. With a small smile on his tired face, the werewolf nodded.

"Messrs. Padfoot and Moony, in recognition of your valiant deeds today would like to offer you the title of the new marauder."

He paused for a moment, seeming to be deep in thought. Harry took this time to notice that the haunted look on the fugitive's face appeared to be absent completely for the first time since he had met the man. Then, with a lopsided grin on his face that made him resemble the Sirius from Harry's parents' wedding, he snapped his fingers.

"Mr. Padfoot would like to welcome Mr. Blazer in to the Marauders."

"Mr. Moony would like to also welcome Mr. Blazer in to the Marauders and would also like to thank him for his heroic actions in the destruction of a crazy old bat who had not realized that she had missed her train to hell."

Sirius, for the second time in as many minutes, roared with laughter. Harry felt a smile break out on his own face as he stared at the two Marauders who remained. Even Hermione and Mr. Weasley were smiling, although only one knew exactly why.

And with the feelings of all of the happiness around him, Harry felt the light move in to fill him completely, a feeling he had not known since he had first seen the vision of the Grangers being tortured.

TBC 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

A.N.: To the reviewer who asked how Harry was able to use his lightsaber on the lovely Mrs. Black's portrait when it was taken by Dumbledore, , I suggest you refer back to the end of Chapter Ten. Also, there have been revisions made to the end of Chapter Twelve, so if you have read said chapter before November 14, 2004, please do so again.

Chapter Thirteen

To Harry and the rest of the crew residing at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, the rest of the summer seemed to fly by with uncanny quickness. And, for the most part, it was rather enjoyable. Once the portrait of Mrs. Black had been so effortlessly destroyed, the feeling of gloom and foreboding that had clung to the walls of the house smothering everyone like an oppressive blanket seemed to lift almost completely. The house was still filthy, and numerous nameless creatures still resided within its walls, but the atmosphere now seemed to be one of anticipation and hope rather than anger and hatred. The change in the house had affected everyone in a positive manner.

Everyone but a certain Ronald Weasley.

He still went out of his way to avoid Harry and Hermione. Whenever they would come in to the same room, he would send them nasty glares and make excuses to be elsewhere as quickly as he could. Harry had the feeling, mostly gleaned from Ron's unguarded feelings, that only the remembrance of how effortlessly Harry had manhandled him on the day that they had arrived kept him from forcing a confrontation. This bothered Harry, but not as much as it would have in the past. He had known Ron was not mature enough to get past his jealousy, and it was better that this fact was out in the open now rather than at a critical time. Also, Ron had constantly managed to talk Harry out of studying in the past which had certainly had a negative impact on his grades.

All of his free time had brought on a startling revelation for Harry. Without Ron constantly after him to play chess, Exploding Snap, or study Quidditch books, all of which he enjoyed, he actually enjoyed learning. And here, living in the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black, he now had many things to study.

Professor Dumbledore had personally brought over the book lists for the six students who would be going back to Hogwarts on September 1. Harry was elated to find enclosed with his book list a gleaming Prefect's Badge, as well as being a little surprised. He had never imagined that Dumbledore would consider him for a prefect, not with all of the rules he had broken over his four years at Hogwarts.

It turned out that he was not the only person at Grimmauld Place who received a prefect's badge. Hermione, too, had been made a prefect. Needless to say, once he had heard of the other two being made prefect's, Ron's jealousy had flared up again. He had even gone so far as to shout at Dumbledore, who was still there, demanding to know why he had not been made a prefect. After receiving yet another lecture from his mother, as well as a stinging cheek, Dumbledore had pulled Ron aside and explained that the badge was initially going to go to him until his outburst on the night of their arrival at Sirius's house. That had shut Ron up more effectively than any slap would have been able to.

Other than this miner dispute, things continued to go well as the school year drew nearer. When he retired at night, Harry continued to be transported to the meeting spot where Obi-Wan would demonstrate new uses of the Force for Harry to practice when he was awake. However, this happened only every third or fourth night. Kenobi had not been wrong when he had told Harry that they would not be able to meet as often. Harry was still unsure as to the reason why that would be. Nevertheless, he consoled himself with the fact that he had not lost touch with his mentor totally. Also, he had learned how to meditate to restore his energy, vastly decreasing the amount of sleep he required. This also left him free to study the books that were in great supply in the Black family library.

Only a couple of events interrupted the monotony of life at Grimmauld Place. The first one happened about a week after they initially arrived. Dumbledore was again visiting the house, and Harry was wondering exactly why he came so often. This time, however, he was pleased when Dumbledore called him down to the kitchen shortly after lunch.

"Harry, my boy," the old man began pleasantly. "I realize that you are learning all of these new powers and that you may feel that you do not need a wand. However, I must insist that you obtain one before you return to school. Therefore, if you want, I have a couple of free hours and would be delighted to take you to Diagon Alley if you would like."

Not surprisingly, it turned out that Harry did. He knew that there were many things that the Force would be able to do for him, some of which might not be possible with a wand. However, he was intelligent enough to realize that the reverse was also true. Therefore, it was with a feeling of anticipation that he followed the headmaster through the Floo network, emerging covered in soot in the Leaky Cauldron. Luckily, there were not many patrons and thus the pair of them were able to exit in to the back alley and make their way in to Diagon Alley without being stopped.

After a quick visit to Gringotts for Harry to refill his money bag, they went immediately to Mr. Ollivanders. There, Harry repeated the process of finding a wand that he had undertaken in his first year. This time, however, the process was quicker. Ten minutes after entering, he left the store with his new wand, eleven inches, holly with a dragon hair core, safely tucked away in his pocket. Dumbledore had immediately ushered him back to the Leaky Cauldron and from there back to the house. Once back in the kitchen from which they had left, Dumbledore explained that someone else would obtain their school books for them within the week.

Once upstairs in his room (luckily, the house was big enough that he was able to have his own room, which happened to be right next to Sirius's and across from Hermione's), Harry repeated the process on his wand that he had used earlier in the summer to disable the Ministry of Magic's Tracking Charm. He had already done the same for Hermione.

With their wands, they continued to work tirelessly along with the Weasleys to make Grimmauld Place a more cheerful and inhabitable place. Harry had lost count of the number of doxies and other questionable creatures he had already flushed from their hiding places while cleaning dusty drapes, ancient cabinets, and dark dusty corners. Now that he had his new wand, he would enter a room, discretely make sure no one was watching, and use the Banishing Charm that he had learned from Sirius to get rid of any creatures he found. Vaguely, he wondered what happened to the critters once they were gone, but decided as long as they were no longer infesting his godfather's house, it really didn't matter.

The greatest change was not in the appearance of the house, however. It was in the house's owner. Since the destruction of the portrait of Mrs. Black, Sirius Black seemed to become a different man. Perhaps some of it had to do with the oppressive portrait that had reigned over the House of Black for many years being gone, but Harry thought that most of it was the fact that he, Sirius, was surrounded by friends for the first time in many years. Harry also liked to think that a large part of Sirius's happiness was also derived from knowing that his godson, whom he had promised to protect, was living with him. Harry knew that for his part living with Sirius was a dream come true. Ever since the end of his third year when Sirius had to flee from Hogwarts on the wanted hippogriff Buckbeak, Harry had constantly wondered what life would be like living with the man. For the briefest time back in his third year, he had thought he was going to find out. Then, after Pettigrew's escape and the subsequent actions of the idiot Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, Harry had despaired of his dream of leaving the Dursleys ever coming true. Now, it appeared he was getting his wish though certainly not in the manner he had expected.

Scott and Haylee Granger, other than learning to adjust to living in a magical house, were perfectly content to be there. Both of them agreed that it was high time for a vacation, and though neither of them would have planned something like this for the ideal trip, they both agreed that it would be educational at the least. The morning after they arrived at Grimmauld Place, Professor McGonagall had gone with Scott Granger to the Granger dental practice and made the necessary arrangements to temporarily close the business. The official reason was given as sick relatives in America.

Strangely enough, the Grangers and Sirius seemed to get along very well. He seemed to delight in showing them the house and answering questions about the wizarding world. This, in itself, made Harry smile everytime he saw his enthusiastic godfather strolling through the halls followed by the two fascinated Muggles as they listened to the Animagus tell stories either of the history of the house or of his adventures at Hogwarts.

Six days before they were to return to Hogwarts, the second big event took place. It was then that Harry finally learned the reason for the many visits Dumbledore had continued to make to Grimmauld Place.

They had just finished another one of Mrs. Weasley's enormous suppers and Harry was thinking of retiring upstairs to his room to sleep when Dumbledore entered the room again. This time, however, he was not alone. He was accompanied by several people whom Harry knew. There was his Transfiguration teacher, Minerva McGonagall. Also, there was tiny Professor Flitwick, the Charms instructor. And, trailing behind the enormous form of Hagrid was the sallow greasy Potions master, Severus Snape.

Harry turned to Sirius to ask him why Snape was present in his house, but he never got the chance. The door opened again and several more people entered the room. Three, in particular, caught Harry's eye. Firstly was a young woman with bright pink hair. Her clothing looked like that worn by some of the women in some of Dudley's sporting magazines which Harry had snuck peaks at. And, Harry noticed with a blush, she appeared to be well gifted in the region of the chest. He would learn later that her name was Nymphadora Tonks. He would also learn that, despite her clumsiness, calling her Nymphadora was inviting trouble.

Next came a hulking black man who appeared to be nearly seven feet tall. Muscles could be seen through the tight shirt the man was wearing, and Harry knew immediately that this was no one to cross. His name, it turned out, was Kingsley Shacklebolt. Also, it appeared that both Tonks and Shacklebolt were Aurors, Dark Wizard fighters.

Finally, his eyes went to the third figure who entered, and the feeling of familiarity that had been plaguing him was finally put to rest as the man's face came in to the light.

"Wood?" Harry asked in amazement. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, you'll find out shortly, Potter," Oliver Wood, his former Quidditch captain at Hogwarts, answered as he came over to enthusiastically shake Harry's hand.

"I'll tell you this much, though," Wood continued, beaming widely. "Madam Hooch is retiring and I'll be taking her place as flight instructor and Quidditch referee at Hogwarts."

Harry grinned at Wood who looked as happy as a kid in a candy store. However, he was distracted by the sight of Mrs. Weasley embracing two other men. With great surprise, he realized it was Bill and Charlie Weasley, her two eldest sons. Bill was a curse breaker for Gringotts Wizarding Bank and worked in Egypt. Charlie, the second oldest, was currently residing in Romania and had a solid career working with dragons.

Once again, the kitchen door opened and a group of six people made their way in to the kitchen. This time, however, Harry didn't recognize anyone.

The sound of a throat clearing made Harry look up to the front of the long table. Dumbledore had stood up and cleared his throat. At once, conversations began tapering off and the newcomers began conjuring up chairs for themselves. Harry did a rapid count around the kitchen, slightly amazed that so many people could fit in to one room and still have space left over. Counting himself, Hermione, and the entire clan of Weasleys, there were twenty seven people crowded in the kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

Once everyone was seated, Dumbledore began to talk. Over the next few minutes, Harry learned that the majority of the people in the kitchen were members of the Order of the Phoenix, an organization that Dumbledore had started during Voldemort's first rise to power. The rest, it seemed, Dumbledore had invited to fill in empty places of those who were missing from the original Order: namely the Potters (here, Dumbledore shot a sympathetic glance to Harry), the Longbottoms, who had been tortured in to insanity, and several other witches and wizards who had lost their lives during the first war.

The old wizard went on to state that due to Voldemort's rebirth, the Order was once again forming in the hopes that they would be able to challenge Voldemort and hopefully prevent a repeat of the catastrophic loss of life that occurred during the first war.

Harry tuned him out for a moment as he became aware of a feeling of disbelief and incredulity in the room. He thanked Obi-Wan silently for teaching him how to track a person's feelings, as he believed he was the only one aware in the room of Percy Weasley's refusal to believe that Voldemort was back. However, he was given no time to analyze the feelings he was picking up from Percy. Dumbledore had again cleared his throat.

"I would like those who are still in school or who were not previously in the Order to read this piece of paper," he said firmly. "Otherwise, if you leave this house, you will never find your way back in. Earlier this afternoon, I placed this house under the Fidelius Charm, and I am the Secret Keeper."

So saying, he pulled a tiny strip of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to George Weasley who was nearest him. George read it, frowned, and handed it to his twin. And so the paper made its way around the table to all of those who would be returning to Hogwarts and to those who were not yet in the Order. Harry wondered again if he was the only one who saw the brief scowl cross Percy's face as he took the note from Ron, read it, and thrust it almost savagely in to Hermione's hand. When it got to the Grangers, Scott and Haylee read it with puzzled expressions on their faces. Hermione leaned over quickly and must have given them a brief explanation to the purpose of the Fidelius Charm, for soon looks of comprehension dawned on their faces, and they nodded their assent. When he finally read the paper, Harry was surprised to see only this line:

The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix is at number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

As Harry, the last one to read the paper finished, he dropped it as it caught fire and burned. The fire was a deep green color, and when it went out, Harry realized that there were not even ashes left to indicate that anything had burned.

After this, Harry, along with Fred, George, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione were summarily and none to quietly forced from the kitchen by a tiny furious creature that called itself Mrs. Weasley. When Harry pointed out that Sirius was his guardian and that it was his decision as to whether or not he could stay, the glare he received from the overly-protective woman made him shut up at once. Training to be a Jedi he might be, but he doubted whether or not even Obi-Wan would emerge unscathed from a confrontation with Molly Weasley.

And so, the organization that existed to fight Voldemort was reactivated with new warriors for the light to take up the challenge and hopefully recruit others to their cause.

The night before they were to return to school, the third and final event happened. Harry was not present to hear the argument, but was filled in by Fred and George, between bouts of cursing and plans for revenge. It seemed that all of the secrecy and talk of Voldemort's return had finally gotten to Percy Weasley. He and his parents had had a shouting match in one of the drawing rooms on the second floor earlier in the evening. Percy, it seemed, did not believe that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned at all. He had angrily questioned his father why they were willing to take the word of a delusional boy on such sensitive matters. When Mr. Weasley pointed out that Dumbledore, too, believed the Dark Lord had returned, Percy had accused him of blindly following Dumbledore without proof. He explained that he, Percy, would not be taken in by the lies of an attention-seeking brat and an old fool, and that if his father was too much of a coward and fool to think for himself, then he, Percy, had no choice but to leave. He had ignored Mrs. Weasley's desperate tear-filled entreaties for him to stay and talk things over and summoned his stuff from his room.

According to George, the only good thing that happened was the fact that Mr. Weasley, shocked and deeply hurt by his son's outburst, still maintained enough composure to discretely cast a Memory Charm on Percy just before he Apparated out.

"At least the filthy git won't remember anything about this place," Fred growled in agreement.

Harry knew that they were deeply upset by their feelings which he could sense through the Force. Therefore, he made it a point to avoid all of the Weasleys until it was time to go to bed.

As he lay there about to drift in to meditation for the night, he wondered if this ominous event was a shadow of things to come.

And just before he slipped completely in to the trance, he was aware of rumbling thunder in the distance.

TBC 


End file.
